


The First Children

by unholyseraphs (oncharredwings)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1940s, Abuse, Blood, Body Horror, Cages, Cannibalism, Circus, Drugs, F/F, Gore, Hand Jobs, Horrific Imagery, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Prostitution, Starvation, Torture, Violence, body alteration, freakshow au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 16:56:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 43,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2395850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncharredwings/pseuds/unholyseraphs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1945, the stage is set, and the pieces are being crafted by a horrific hand. In a world where sideshows are starting to die, Abaddon and Eve team up together with the help of Dr. Alastair Mauvais to create their very own unique freak show. Castiel Novak is a teen who is sold by his parents into the sideshow business, while Dean Winchester is kidnapped against his will. They are both transformed into creatures unrecognizable, facing horrors that are unimaginable. Together, they will try to escape and return to a normal life, but nothing is certain in this upside down world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Children

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone :) 
> 
> This is my first year participating in the Dean/Castiel Big Bang but this is my fic for this year's challenge. I want to give a special thank you to [Jenn](http://houseofharvelle.tumblr.com/) for being my beta, and to [Anna](http://carrionofmywaywardson.tumblr.com/) for being the most _amazing_ artist I could have ever asked for. I didn't get _two_ pieces of art, I got six, plus a divider. Anna is seriously the best, one of my favorite artists on tumblr, I'm so happy to also be her friend ^_^ 
> 
> Art master post is [here](http://lucyannethropy.livejournal.com/29295.html)
> 
> I will also be embedding the art into the fic with Anna's permission :) 
> 
> **Please read the tags!!!**
> 
> This fic is EXTREMELY disturbing. I've had people find it really gross and nasty, so please, please, pLEASE read the tags. I tried to tag for everything I could think of. If you come across something you believe should be tagged, please shoot me a message here or on my [tumblr](http://unholyenochian.co.vu/)
> 
> Thank you and enjoy the show :)

 

Prologue

 

The summer of 1943 was the hottest Georgia had experienced in years - the heat came in waves, scorching the ground and people alike for days at a time. Eve sent her children out to play in the cool lake near the house to keep them out of her hair as she did housework and tended to the kitchen. The heat had grown so unbearable that she didn’t even want to light the stove to make dinner, but she had to get started because her husband would be arriving home from work soon. The children needed to wash up.

 

She could hear them shrieking as she came to the back door. “Kids! Come inside, it’s almost supper time, your father will be home soon!” She just hoped that he came home sober and not drunk tonight.

 

Eve returned to the stove and began to heat up the leftovers they had, adding some spices and extra canned ingredients to make it taste better. Her cooking had never been all that grand, but she did at least try. The sounds of the car rumbling up the driveway drew her eyes from the stove and to the window at the backyard again; yes, the children were rushing up to the backdoor, soon bursting through to go and wash up at the bathroom sink. Not long after, her husband came through the front.

 

“Eve! Where are ya?” Zachariah, drunk as usual, came stumbling into the kitchen, grasping heavily at the table and chairs.

 

“Dinner will be ready soon,” she told him coolly, trying to keep the anger from her tone, but the room dropped in temperature by a few degrees.

 

“I got _fired_ ,” Zach slurred, coming to stand close to her, his greasy hand groping her through her house dress. “But I got an idea, on how to make more money, you’ll love it.”

 

She shuddered, not bothering to comment about him losing his job - again. This was the third job he had gone through in the past year. Once upon a time ago, they had been happy, raising their children right, with smiles and love for one another, but now she recoiled at his touch. Her mother had been right in not trusting him, and she should have never married the son of a bitch.

 

“That’s great. Go sit down and I’ll get your pla -” She screamed when he grabbed her by the hair and hauled her backward, spinning her around so he could lever over the table. “Zach - the _kids_.”

 

“You _cunt_ ,” Zachariah growled. “Don’t you fuckin’ tell me what to do, you bitch.”

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered quickly. “Please, the children, they’re just washing up - _please_ -” Her eyes grew wide when she saw that he had removed his pocket knife. The cold metal pressed against the skin under her left eye. When he pressed, she felt the point prick her, dangerously close to gouging her eye out. “Zach!” she shrieked his name.

 

“ _Teach_ you,” Zach growled. “You and the damn kids. I’ll make us enough money, and you’ll be fuckin’ sorry for running around on me, ya bitch.”

 

Eve shut her eyes and prayed for this to end before the children returned to see their father with a knife in hand. Despite wishing she could call him a liar, she couldn’t, and they both knew his adulterous accusations were true. She had been sleeping with Michael, their neighbor, for years, but what Zachariah did not know was that she craved softer flesh. When she dreamt, her mind turned to the actresses on the television - Julie Garland, Ava Gardner, and Vivien Leigh to name a few. That secret she held close to her chest and did not let it become apparent in her every day life, which was why she consistently slept with Michael. At least Michael was young and attractive, unlike her husband.

 

“Zach, I’m _sorry_. Please - _please_ -” She hated begging. Her mother had always taught her to never beg a man for anything, but she was not begging for herself, she begged for her children. They did not need to see their father like this.

 

Either Zach had given up or he had grown too tired because he released her, pocketing the knife, and he sat heavily down in his chair. “Well?!” he demanded, “Where’s dinner?!”

 

Burning on the stove, she realized too late as she flew to try and rescue what she had heated up. Zach looked displeased when the smell reached his nose. A sick feeling entered her gut, and then heavy footsteps were coming after her. Drunken hands grabbed at her hair, yanking her back, lifting her up off of her feet. She screamed and struggled against him, reaching for the knife on the counter. It clattered to the floor, just short of entering her grasp, and Zach hauled her out of the kitchen and down the hallway. She screamed for her children to leave the house, to get _help_ , but they did not make a sound, and she could only hope that they were able to escape from this hell.

 

Zach threw her on the bed, his heavy body soon straddling along her hips to keep her down. The knife had returned to his hand and when she went to fight him, he cut her palm so deep that it bit into the bone. He slapped her, the sound ringing in her ears.

 

“Fucking cunt,” he snarled again. “Going around like a damn _hooker_ with that pompous neighbor of ours. When I’m done with you maybe I’ll go and pay him a damn visit.”

 

“No. No, you leave him _alone_!”

 

Zach laughed cruelly. “Oh yes, I’m gonna pay old Michael a visit, but first I’m gonna show you how we’re gonna make new money first, baby.”

 

She screamed and fought with him, but his fists came down on her head, knocking her bloody until a black film crept around her eyes. It was not long before she lost consciousness.

 

 

The toxic smell of smoke carried a scent that she did recognize, but it was sweet and putrid. Head aching, blood drying on her face, Eve slowly sat up. Zach had left her on the bed, and when she could focus again, she saw that her panties were around her ankles. The smell of semen in the air, Eve felt her stomach churn, and she had to lean over the bed and vomit on the floor. It was not beneath Zach to rape her, but it always left her feeling sick anyway. The house was deadly silent, the clock on the wall reading half past four in the morning. It was then that she remembered.

 

The children!

 

Flying from the bed, kicking the panties aside completely, Eve rushed down to their bedroom, but it was empty. “James?! Richie?! Elizabeth? Kids?! Answer Mommy, it’s alright!”

 

The house seemed too still, as if they hadn’t been in the house for hours. Perhaps they had run for help after all … but then if they had run for help, the police should have been here already. Where were her children? Panting and heart slamming, Eve stood still, trying to listen to the darkness. The steps of the cellar creaked, and she spun around in time to watch in horror as a bloodied Zachariah appeared at the top of the steps, a large hunting knife in his hands.

 

“Eve,” he said, sounding surprised to see her.

 

“Where are my children?” she whispered.

 

“How the hell are you awake?!” Zach demanded.

 

“Where are my _children_?!” she screamed then. “Where are they!?!”

 

The cold smile that slithered into place made Eve’s stomach churn again. He held up the knife, showing her the blood glistening in the pale moonlight that filtered through the kitchen window. “Bein’ useful, honey.”

 

“You son of a bitch!” Eve took two steps and shoved into his chest, sending Zach backward and down the cellar steps. She listened to him fall and tumble, praying that he landed on the knife in his hands. Once the sounds ceased, she followed down the dark steps. Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the cellar, and she could make out the lump of Zach’s body crumpled at the bottom, his leg twisted in a way that should have been impossible for a human leg to be.

 

Heavy breathing filled the silence. It was a shame that Zach had survived the fall, but at least she wouldn’t go to jail for murder. When she turned to face the cellar, her heart slammed in her chest, and a sob wrenched free. Her children, all three of them, were dead, that much was evident. There was too much blood for them to be alive. Zach had killed them all, and her hands went to her mouth, as tears quietly streamed down her cheeks. Legs feeling like gelatin, Eve walked over and sank down onto her knees to lift Richie into her arms.

“Why?” she asked the darkness, her voice shaking. “Why would you do this to them?! They _loved_ you!”

Zach’s breathing continued to raggedly fill the silence. “Less … mouths … to feed. Damn kids-finally bein’ useful.”

She screamed again. The pain in her chest was almost too great to handle, and she turned her saddened eyes to the carnage around her. Too much blood. Too much death. Too much pain. Shaking, Eve set Richie back down and slowly turned to glance back at Zachariah. “Less _mouths_ to feed?” she hissed. “ _That_ is why you killed our children?!”

“I was -“ Zach coughed, spitting up blood. “I was tryin’ to make ‘em into freaks… for the sideshow -“ He coughed again. “But that didn’t go so well … so less mouths to feed, baby. We’ll save money -“

She screamed and turned, looking for something heavy, anything at all. There was a crowbar lying near James’ feet, so she reached over and picked it up, slowly standing, allowing the metal to scrape across the ground. Zach looked up at her, stammering for her to stop, but she brought the heavy bar down on his head all the same. She didn’t stop until he was unrecognizable, the blood covering her hands, and dress. When she finished, she turned to look at her children again. A colorful paper resting on Zach’s workbench drew her attention. She reached around to snatch it off of the table, reading it over.

 

 

Turning her eyes back on the ruin of her sons, Eve _knew_ ; Zach had been attempting to make their children freaks, so they could sell them to the circus. They could make money off of the circus earnings, but to _make_ her children into sideshow freaks? The idea made her blood run cold, and while it would be easy money, that did not make it _right_.

 

“I’m sorry babies,” she whispered to them. “I’m so sorry.”

 

PART ONE

 

Chapter One

 

November 1944 left American families cold and hungry, as their efforts to help the war milked the economy, despite all of the posters and propaganda being used to promote the efforts in Europe. Castiel had avoided the draft by being too young - he was only seventeen and had been told that only men ages of twenty-one and older were made to sign up for possible forced entrance into the military. Castiel felt glad to be only seventeen for once in his life, even if his parents treated him like he were older.

 

His family had recently moved them to New Jersey, living in a poor and dangerous section of town. He worked at a corner store, bagging groceries, earning barely thirty cents an hour. They were barely scraping by, even though his father had insisted that they would make more money here in New Jersey than they had back in Maine. Since he had no choice but to follow his parents or live on the streets, Castiel worked his menial job and brought what he earned back to his mother, which was never much, but it at times kept a loaf of bread on the table.

 

The cold wind bit in through the thin tan jacket that his father had bought for a nickel from their neighbor back home. It had tiny holes in places, and did not do much against the cold wind and snow, but it was better than nothing. The walk back from the small grocery store to their rundown apartment felt longer than usual today; it was only half a mile, but the wind, relentless and freezing, soon had him shaking, teeth chattering so hard he feared one would knock loose. The building they lived in stood starkly old and beat up from the rest, the bricks stained with climbing ivy on the sides. The windows were spotted with dirt, fogged with age. The door’s lock on their apartment didn’t even work, and they were too poor to fix it.

 

Castiel walked into the building, nose scrunching as the smell of urine, mold, and feces slithered up his nose. The building alone smelled awful, and no matter how much perfume his mother spritzed in their apartment, there was always an undertone of rotten _something_ clinging to the air. The stairs creaked beneath his feet dangerously as he ascended  to their hallway on the second floor.

 

The apartment door squealed when Castiel opened it, announcing his homecoming to everyone sitting in their mock living room which only housed a beaten up couch and his father’s recliner. A frown creased his eyebrows - there was a man in a smart, black suit sitting on a chair that his mother must have brought in from the kitchen. A cup of tea daintily in his hands, he brought it to his lips to sip as Castiel entered the room. “Um… hello,” he greeted warily.

 

“Oh, Castiel, good, you’re home. Have a seat.” His mother urged, rushing over to take his coat, and then pushing and prodding at him to sit on the couch. “This is Mr. Crowley, he’s come to talk to you.”

 

Castiel raised an eyebrow at his mother, and then his father was coming around the corner, a wad of cash in hand. A feeling of dread filled his chest, one that he could not explain, at the sight of his father with all of that money. “What’s going on?” he dared to ask.

 

Mr. Crowley set aside the cup of tea his mother must have made for him, calmly folding his hands in his lap. The man sat tall and he had an air of being pompous; his face was clean shaven, and his hairline receding slightly. The look in his eyes - cruel and evil - made Castiel’s bladder scream. The urge to pee became overwhelming. “My name is Ferguson Crowley, you may call me Crowley, that is all, understood?”

 

“Okay?” he agreed slowly. “What’s going on?”

 

“I have been watching you for sometime now, Castiel, and you have this … _air_ about you that I like, and I wish to exhibit in my show. I have given your mother and father ten thousand dollars for their time. You will be coming with me.” Crowley smiled and stood up, brushing his pants off as if there were now dirt on them.

 

Castiel blinked and stared at the man, completely taken aback. “Excuse me?” he whispered. “ _Going_ with you? Going where? I don’t understand -” Fear leaked into his voice and eyes, and he looked to his mother. “What’s going on? Where am I going?”

 

Naomi Novak did not look back at him, her eyes glued to the ground in shame. “We needed the money Castiel, I’m sorry … but you’ll be well taken care of, Mr. Crowley has assured me -”

 

“You _sold_ me?!” he screamed, jumping to his feet in rage. “To - to some _man_?! Why?! I’m sorry I don’t make a lot money, Mama, I’ll try harder! Please don’t send me away -” His voice cracked with emotion and unwanted tears cascaded down his face in broken rivers. “Mama, _please_ -”

 

Crowley’s hand wrapped around his arm and hauled him towards the front door. Castiel screamed and fought him as hard as he could, but Crowley was stronger, and the door slammed in his face. The hallway grew longer and longer until Crowley was carrying him down the stairs - no one paid him any heed. He was being _kidnapped_ and no one cared. Fists pounding along Crowley’s back did nothing, and his attempts to bite and scratch were quickly subdued. It was not long before he was being stuffed into a huge, black car.

 

“Be quiet!” Crowley snapped at him. “You belong to me now, and if I were you, I would _shut up_ or you will be without a tongue, do you understand?”

 

He had to bite down on said tongue to keep from spitting in Crowley’s pig face. The car door was slammed shut and then Crowley was in the front and they were driving away. He spun around to watch as the apartment building he called home for only a few months faded into the distance. His parents had just sold him to a man to do God-only-knew what for ten thousand dollars. The reality of what had just occurred made him nauseous, or maybe that was just the road bumping beneath the car as they drove, but either way, Castiel did not feel well. Eventually, he settled down and became - for the moment - complacent. If he could survive this, perhaps he could get away.

 

“Where are we going?” he asked, after the city disappeared and gave way to a country road.

 

“Home,” Crowley replied coldly. “Your new home.”

 

“Where is that?” he dared ask.

 

“You’ll see,” was Crowley’s cryptic reply.

 

 

Rain pattering on the windows sifted into his dreams. The sounds made him stir, his eyes opening comedically slow. For a moment, he panicked because he had forgotten he was even in a car, and not at home, but then he remembered - his parents had sold him to a man who was going to use him somehow, and he wasn’t sure where they were headed, or what lay in store. The rain was coming down fast and hard, and from what he could make out, he could see they were stopped somewhere in the country. Dirt road, silo, big red barn kind of country.  Also, he was alone in the car.

 

This was his chance.

 

He had to escape now or probably never have this chance again. The rain came down so heavily that Castiel could barely see when he pushed the car door open, but he had to run. He would run until he couldn’t run anymore. As soon as his shoes splashed into the mud, Castiel took a step, sneakers sinking into the muck immediately, but he was determined to get away, so he ran, slipping more than once. There were dark shadows through the curtain of water he could make out as being a silo and the barn, so he dashed towards the buildings to duck behind.

 

The barn was cold and wet as he pressed against it, darting behind some haybales that were soaked, having not been taken into the barn. Praying was not something he did regularly - his parents had been faithful, God-fearing people, but religion had never really done it for him. However, he prayed as hard as he could in the moment - praying for absolution, praying to find shelter, praying to stay safe. If there was a God, then Castiel firmly believed that He would not allow something so terrible to happen. God would save him. God would show _mercy_.

 

The rain began to let up and Castiel dared to peer over the bale of hay, his eyes falling on the car where Crowley was returning, a woman walking alongside him. Loud cursing filled the driveway. Castiel quickly ducked back down to stay hidden. The chilly air had him shivering, and the rain was starting to freeze on his skin. It had been _snowing_ in New Jersey, where the hell were they that it was raining, but still cold?

 

“CASTIEL!” Crowley screamed in rage.

 

He sunk down further.

 

“I _told_ you that you shouldn’t have kept him in the car!” the woman snapped at him, clearly just as enraged. “Now what are we going to do?!”

 

Crowley leaned heavily against the car, looking distressed and angry. Castiel watched them from a hole in between the hay bale and the wall of the barn, his heart galloping.

 

“I don’t know,” Crowley snarled. “When I find him, I am going to make him regret leaving.”

 

The woman rolled her eyes. “Oh, I’m sure you will.”

 

“Be quiet, Meg.”

 

Castiel began to slowly back up, trying to backwards crawl out from behind the hay bales and towards the opposite side of the barn. The ground squelched beneath his hands and feet, making him pause every few seconds to make sure they hadn’t heard him. There was dirt and mud up to his elbows, but it would wash off later if he survived this ordeal. One more step and he would be able to crawl behind the barn, he just needed to watch Crowley and Meg to make sure they were not paying him any heed. Checking to see if Crowley was paying attention, Castiel pushed off the ground to spring up and duck out of sight. Once he was behind the barn he could run for the fields, and off towards the road.

 

He could practically taste freedom.

 

The ground squished beneath his shoes, making them stick and Castiel started to panic. If he didn’t move, they would surely see him, but he was stuck. Clinging for purchase along the wooden planks of the wall, Castiel dug his fingers in, scratching and making them bleed as he pried his feet free. One foot, and then the other, he dove behind the barn, leaving his shoes behind. Now he needed to run, since he had caused so much noise, they _had_ to have heard him. Slipping and sliding on the mud and grass, he started to run towards the fences and the fields of the farm.

 

He didn’t hear the dog running after him until there were two heavy paws knocking him down into the mud, hot breath heating up the back of his neck, and snarling in his ear. Castiel did not move again, he remained still beneath the growling animal, afraid that it would kill him if he moved too suddenly. There were footsteps following the dog, and he shut his eyes, praying that this torture would end. He wanted to go _home_ , even if he was no longer sure home would welcome him back.

 

“Good girl Juliette,” Crowley cooed, “good girl. Sit.”

 

The dog’s weight left his spine and he turned his head to see a black dog with a vicious looking face sit down by her owner, looking proud. He remained on the ground, unsure what his _lesson_ was going to be now that he had been caught.

 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Crowley said. “No, no, you shouldn’t have done that at all, Darling.”

 

“What are you going to do to me?” he whispered shakily.

 

“Well, considering you have delayed our trip with your little _antics_ , I am going to teach you a lesson, pretty boy,” Crowley replied.

 

“What kind of lesson?” Freedom slipped through his fingers like grains of sand through an hourglass. He could see it falling away as a cruel joke. God did not exist.

 

Crowley grinned cruelly. “I was going to break your legs, but you’ll need those where we are going. Then I considered breaking your arms, but you need those too. For now, I am going to get you up on your feet, shove you in the back of that car, and drive you away to your home. You are going to do as I say, or I will start taking body parts, starting with your fingers. Do you understand me?”

 

He wanted to tell Crowley to shove it up his ass, but he held his tongue, even pushing up off the ground to stand shivering and cold. “Yes,” he whispered. Maybe if he went along with Crowley’s plan, he could become close to him, and gain some sympathy. That was by far a better plan than running for his life when he stood no chance of surviving in the middle of nowhere.

 

“Good. Come along then.”

 

Castiel glanced at the dog, but she followed Crowley back to the car where Meg waited. She stood shorter than him, her hair long and brown, hanging messily around her face. She wore navy blue pants, which was bizarre to see, a red spotted blouse tucked inside the waistband, and men’s Oxfords. His frown increased as he passed her, and she gave him a nasty look as Crowley returned him to the back seat. He averted his gaze.

 

“Good luck with that one,” Meg was saying as Crowley shut the door.

 

He watched them exchange money, for what he did not know, but then Crowley returned to the driver’s seat and they were leaving the farm behind. “Where are we going?” he repeated as soon as the driveway disappeared.

 

“Stop asking questions,” Crowley snapped. “Ask one more and I’ll cut out your tongue.”

 

Temptation to see if Crowley was all talk or not almost won him over, but he managed to keep his mouth shut and questions at bay. He didn’t know where they were but clearly they were no longer in New Jersey. How long had even been _asleep_? It hadn’t felt that long, but maybe that was just the fear keeping the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He would be a fool if he did not admit to being afraid. This man could kill him and leave him on the side of the road for all he knew. Being silent and complacent seemed the best option.

 

Trees, homes, towns, fields all passed by the car as they drove on a seemingly neverending road. Never once did Crowley turn off. They just kept driving straight. Castiel wanted off this ride, but that would not happen any time soon since they were in the middle of nowhere. The need to sleep overwhelmed him sometime after it grew dark, and eventually Castiel could not keep his eyes open, allowing them to shut.

 

 

“Wake up!”

 

Castiel jerked awake, eyes snapping open, heart slamming, and skipping a few beats. Crowley had the car door open and soon Castiel found himself being dragged out by the arm. The ground still squelched beneath his feet as he was forcibly marched up to a trailer, where Crowley soon rapped on the door. He was still too groggy to show complete fear, and he had no idea what waited for him on the other side, but it was a terrifying thought to think on.

 

The door wrenched open, a man with a trimmed beard and short cropped hair stood in its place, his pants hanging low, and his white undershirt sticking to his chest from sweat. The man was handsome, but Castiel found him crude. When he spoke, Castiel noted the man had an accent, something South of here, and he was soft spoken, almost lilting for a man so large, “Yeah?”

 

Crowley shoved him right into the man’s chest. “Teach him,” was the only thing Crowley had to say before walking away.

 

He wanted to run, but the big man had him by his arms, and pushed him into the trailer. The floors were clean, there was a small couch against one wall, and on the opposite end was a fold out bed. A naked man tangled in the sheets rolled over to blink around as if he had just woken up.

 

“What’s your name, Kid?” the man asked as he walked over to toss some trousers at the naked one.

 

“Castiel,” he replied, watching them interact. He watched as the naked man received a kiss to his lips, quick and chaste, before being spoken to softly. They were lovers.

 

Quickly, Castiel spun around to avert his gaze from the scene, even if his body ached with want and need. The soft bodies of his female classmates had never been what he thought about late at night. The men working in the steel yards and constructing different buildings with their sweaty muscles were what fueled his fantasies. No one knew that, however.

 

“I’m Benny. You can look, he’s dressed.”

 

Castiel slowly turned around and noted that the guy was actually a boy; they were probably close to the same age. “It’s nice to meet you,” he answered politely, which was semi true. It would stay true if Benny offered him no ill will.

 

“Say g’night, Sam,” Benny told the boy.

 

“Good night,” he replied before dashing out the door.

 

Castiel frowned and looked Benny over. At least now he understood why the man’s pants had been open. “Who was that?”

 

“Samandriel.” He bent to gather up the bedding and toss it in a basket, shoving it deep inside. “Been watchin’ over him for a few months now.”

 

“Where are we?” he asked. “I don’t care who you are sleeping with, but I want to know where we are.” The trailer had given him no indication and Crowley had refused to answer his questions. “Please.”

 

“Right now? We’re in North Carolina, but we move around a lot.” Benny walked around him, gathering up more junk to make space on the couch.

 

“Who is _we_? And why are we moving?” Castiel followed Benny around the small space, refusing to let this go until he had all of his answers.

 

“Kid, do you not know where you are?” Benny snorted. He reached over and ripped a piece of paper down off of the wall to hand to him.

 

Castiel turned his eyes on the poster, blinking in surprise. _Crowley’s Menagerie_. “What is this?” he whispered. “What _is_ this?!”

 

“Yer a part of a Freak Show, Kid.”

 

“I’m not a freak,” he hissed disdainfully.

 

Benny smirked. “Nah, but one day you will be.”

 

Castiel wasn’t sure he wanted to know what that meant.

 

Chapter Two

 

Abaddon Hellion glanced up at the pretty brunette that walked into the diner. The time was half past three in the morning, and only women like herself - tough, could easily knock a man on his ass - were found in this part of town, this late at night. So, what was this small, slip of a woman doing wearing a white dress and wandering into the diner looking as lost as a lamb? She continued to watch as the woman walked up to the counter to speak with the trucker, her hand going to his arm. Not long after, she had the man enraptured, and they were leaving together.

 

Abaddon normally did not entertain curiosities that were not her business, since she had no time for other people’s affairs, but this had her interest piqued, so after laying down a few bills, she too exited the diner. The pair had disappeared off to the man’s truck which sat parked next to other trucks, and Abaddon almost missed the white dress as she slid up into the cab with the man. Abaddon felt a flash of anger surge through her body - a pretty thing like that shouldn’t be selling herself to old men with gray whiskers, whose dicks probably hardly stood up straight anymore.

 

Soft boots made no sound as she followed them, still curious, and half tempted to pull the girl from the cab altogether. _She_ would show the woman a good time, a much better time than the trucker ever would. He probably didn’t even know what the clitoris _was,_ let alone where to find it, and what it did. Abaddon watched from the shadows as the woman soon straddled the man, bouncing in his lap quickly after. A tingling ran down Abaddon’s spine to rest hot in her sex; normally thinking about women riding men’s cocks did nothing for her, but the girl in the truck worked so hard and fast, that she felt her underwear growing too hot and wet. She wanted to strip out of her trousers and touch herself right here in the dead of night, in a beaten up parking lot, no matter how indecent.

 

Abaddon almost turned away, ready to leave the woman in white behind, when she stopped. The man’s head was tilted back in his enthrallment, which was growing apparent at how large a mistake that decision was. One moment, the woman was riding him with an eagerness that made Abaddon quiver in all the right places, and then the next she had a knife in hand, from seemingly out of nowhere, and was slicing the man’s throat open. The blood splashed all over the cab and the woman in a grotesque scene. Her jaw fell open - what the hell had she just witnessed?

 

Now, she _couldn’t_ leave. She had to know who this woman was and _why_ had she just murdered the man she had been propositioning sex from. The waiting game was not long, and soon the blood covered woman left the cab of the truck, dropping the knife behind, and Abaddon saw she now had a wallet in her hands. She had killed the man for his wallet?

 

“Hey,” Abaddon called, unable to stop.

 

The woman froze in her place, eyes slowly looking up to meet her own. “Who are you?” she asked. “What do you want?”

 

“I could ask you the same question,” Abaddon replied. “I’m Abaddon. Don’t call me Abbie, only _idiots_ call me Abbie. What’s your name?”

 

“Eve.”

 

Abaddon smiled. “Eve? Like… Adam and Eve?”

 

Eve shrugged. ”Yes. What do you want?”

 

Abaddon half smiled and held out her hand. “You need a place to stay?” she asked casually. “I got a bed.”

 

Eve stared at her a moment before nodding. “Okay.”

 

 

The stained white dress did not take long to remove as Abaddon freed Eve’s body from the flowing fabric, her nails pulling and dragging down Eve’s smooth thighs. Red tracks marred the alabaster skin but Abaddon began to kiss them away, licking and sucking in places. Eve smelled of blood, but underneath there was a sweet scent, flowers maybe.

 

“You smell good,” Abaddon whispered into her skin, teeth grazing against her hip. She looked up at her, thrilled at the look Eve had on her face - she looked truly enthralled. “You never have sex with a woman before?”

 

“No,” Eve whispered the admission.

 

“Well, aren’t I a lucky lady.” Abaddon grinned and rose to her feet again, stepping back to remove her own blouse, watching Eve’s eyes drink her in as she allowed the shirt to drop to the ground. She wore no bustiere, her breasts and nipplies slightly swollen from arousal, and soon she shook her hair free of their pins, allowing the red mane to flow around her neck and chest. Trailing one long fingernail along her nipple, Abaddon bit her lip and smirked at Eve, sighing with content.

 

“You’re very beautiful,” Eve whispered.

 

She smirked and began to remove her boots and pants, allowing Eve to eye her in her almost nude state. “I’m not the only one who is good looking in this room.” With one step, Abaddon came to stand between Eve’s legs, hands going to squeeze her hips and spread her thighs open. “I bet your husband didn’t even know how to touch you properly, now did he?”

 

Eve snorted, grabbing Abaddon’s wrist, placing her fingers along her clit. “No,” Eve whispered against Abaddon’s lips. “He had _no_ idea what he was doing.”

 

Abaddon chuckled and kissed her fully, fingers rubbing in slow circles. “Most men don’t, they’re all idiots. Unless, of course, they prefer men as well, then they can just fumble and jerk their meat off together.”

 

Eve laughed, arms sliding around to entangle her fingers in Abaddon’s auburn locks. She sighed when Abaddon rubbed her faster, thighs tensing along the counter. “Y-y-yes, that’s true, too, I suppose.”

 

Abaddon smirked, watching as Eve grew more aroused with each circle of her wrist. “That’s what you needed, isn’t it? My little lost lamb.”

 

Eve opened her eyes slowly. Brown eyes, full of something _more,_ stared into Abaddon’s hazel ones. “I am no lamb,” she growled, tightening her fingers in Abaddon’s hair to press their mouths together in a hot kiss, teeth scraping and nipping at one another.

 

Abaddon sped up her fingers, tracing Eve’s lips until she inserted one finger, eagerly working with Eve’s wetness. She listened to Eve’s whimpers and cries of pleasure, feeling fingernails dig into the curve of her ass, as they remained in the kitchen, panting and breathing heavily. Eventually, she would drag Eve back to the bedroom, but not before the little lamb came first.

 

Another finger. She opened Eve up eagerly, working so quickly she figured Eve would come soon, but impressively she hung on. Their pants and moans filled the kitchen, their lips seeking one another now and again, but this was not about emotional connection for either of them. This was just about getting off - she knew that, Eve knew that.

 

Eve gasped and then Abaddon felt her clench around her fingers, coming hard. She listened to Eve’s moans rise and fall, until they faded to whimpers, and finally she removed her wet fingers from Eve’s pussy. She smiled, eagerly sucking her fingers clean. “Mmm, that could easily become my new favorite flavor. I’m going to have to have more of that.”

 

Even grinned back, her face a mask of elation. “Then _fuck_ me… Abbie.”

 

 

Abaddon glared slightly, yanking Eve off of the counter. “Oh, you stupid bitch.” She hated that name, but that didn’t stop her from laughing, and smiling down at Eve anyway. “I’m gonna eat your pussy until you scream just for that.”

 

“Is that all I have to do to get you down on your knees?” Eve asked. “You’re easier than you look.”

 

Abaddon began to lead Eve back towards her bedroom, shoving her down onto the mattress. The brunette fell, her legs falling open like a doll’s. “I bet you’re all talk,” Abaddon purred, sliding down onto to her knees at the end of the bed, grabbing onto Eve’s thighs and yanking her down until she could press her tongue against Eve’s clit. A shudder ran through her, and Abaddon hummed, allowing the sound to vibrate through Eve’s clit, making her squirm.

 

Eve sighed, fingers tangling in the blanket. When Abaddon began to lick her sex quickly, she sat up on her on elbows, moaning. “I bet _you’re_ all talk -”

 

Abaddon glanced up at her. “I’m on my knees, aren’t I?” she asked, before returning to spreading Eve’s lips and sucking, nipping, and licking.

 

Eve cried out, throwing her head back, hair dangling on the mattress. As Abaddon gained a slow rhythm, she slid back to lie still on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Abaddon glanced up over Eve’s mons, eyes dragging up to where the brunette’s chest heaved, her small breasts rising and falling slowly. She grinned, sliding her tongue inside Eve, swirling it around. Eve tasted better than any woman she had ever had grace her sheets; she wanted to wake up with Eve and taste her all over again.

 

Eventually, Abaddon sat up, slowly crawling up Eve’s body, bending to kiss her, allowing Eve to taste herself. She slid her thigh against Eve’s lips, teasing and rubbing her, their hands roaming along each other’s bodies; squeezing at each other’s breasts, teasing nipples, and scratching ribs and spines. Eve whimpered when Abaddon stopped, sitting back on her knees, a smile on her face.

 

“I’ll be back,” she promised. Abaddon climbed off of the bed and went for her kitchen and to the icebox, reaching in to remove her favorite toy to use. When she returned with the cucumber in hand, Eve sat up, a look of skepticism on her face. “What? You never had your pussy stuffed with one of these?”

 

“No,” Eve laughed, shaking her head.

 

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” Abaddon climbed onto the bed, helping Eve sit up so they could press the makeshift dildo in between them. She sighed, letting a small moan as one end of the cool toy slid inside her hot sex, almost coming then from the build up of waiting. The other end guided gently into Eve, they wrapped their arms around each other, sweat building up and making their bodies stick together, and their hair to tangle.

 

Eve gasped, slowly moving with Abaddon, grinding together. She grinned at Eve, guiding curious hands to her clit, nodding when Eve began to circle her fingers. They were soon bucking their hips at each other, grinding, panting, and nipping hickeys into each other’s skin. The warmth pooling in Abaddon’s pelvis began to become unbearable and she could no longer hold back; with a cry of pleasure, she came hard, squeezing the makeshift toy right out. Eve grabbed the wettened end and began to pump it hard and fast, sitting back on the heel of her hand, keeping her legs spread so Abaddon could watch.

 

She sighed, smiling at the display, until Eve too finally came again and they were falling back on top of each other breathing heavily. Abaddon stared down at Eve and grinned, breathing heavily. “You’re a little wild thing, aren’t you?”

 

Eve smirked, her chest heaving with deep breaths. “You have no idea,” she whispered. “You’re amazing.” Fingertips trailed up Abaddon’s side making goosebumps appear on her skin, which made Eve smile. “Truly amazing.”

 

Abaddon smirked, pleased with the compliment. “What brings you to this side of town? Murdering men in their truck beds? Not that I’m shaming you, it was oddly… arousing to see you cut that man’s throat wide open.”

 

She watched as Eve grew morose, her eyes moving to stare up at the ceiling, and her voice turning dull, as if she’d had this conversation before and did not want to have it again. “My husband killed my children.”

 

That was not the answer she had expected; it threw her off, and made her lose her composure for a moment. She stared at Eve in shock, eyebrows rising as she propped herself up on her elbow to stare down at Eve. “He killed your children? _How_? Why?”

 

Eve swallowed back emotion. “He was a drunk, and I hated him. He comes home one night, drunk as usual, tells me I’m a cunt, and he takes me to the bedroom. Throws me down, beats me up, and tells me he had a new way for us to make some money. When I woke up again, my babies were in our cellar, murdered … There was so much blood -” She cut off and pressed her hand to her mouth at the memory before recomposing herself. “I _love_ my children. I love them so much.”

 

“Why would he do that?” Abaddon asked casually, trying not to give away how _intrigued_ she was. There was a feeling in the back of her mind as to _why_ but she wanted to hear it from Eve first.

 

“Less mouths to feed supposedly. So, I killed him too. I think he was attempting to make them into freaks, for a sideshow.”

 

Abaddon waited, holding back her thoughts on the manner for the moment.

 

“He wanted to make more money, but then he must have … failed. So, ‘less mouths to feed’ became his reasoning.” Eve finally moved her eyes to Abaddon’s. “I hate men.”

 

“I don’t blame you,” she whispered back, hand coming up to cup the side of Eve’s face. “Men are vile … but I will say, your husband was _sort_ of right about the money. You can make good money with a good sideshow. Not that he should have harmed your children,” she added quickly when Eve cast her a dark glance.

 

“What do you know about freak shows?” Eve asked.

 

Abaddon smirked. “Well, I run one.” That earned her a shocked stare, and Abaddon knew she had her hooked. “Do you want to see?”

 

Eve nodded. “Yes.”

 

“Let’s get dressed then.”

 

 

“My show isn’t as good as Crowley’s,” Abaddon admitted, as they walked towards a group of tents and trailers. “But it’s _something_. I’m hoping to make it better somehow. People like to be entertained by other people’s pain. It’s how the world works.”

 

Eve followed Abaddon in silence, feeling as if she were walking on thin ice. Every night when she shut her eyes, she saw her children, gone forever. After she had regained composure, she had taken her children, one by one, to bury in the backyard. The task had left her winded and exhausted, but they had deserved a proper burial.

 

_“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Elizabeth, pressing a warm kiss to her forehead. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. Mommy loves you.”_

“Eve?”

 

She blinked out of her reverie and looked to Abaddon. “I’m sorry,” she said, her response automatic and ingrained. “You were saying something?”

 

“I was saying that my show is not as good as Crowley’s, but one day it will be better.” Abaddon took her by the crook of her elbow and threw open a tent flap, revealing the array of cages inside. Thin, starving exotic animals filled each cage, staring back at him morosely, as if they were all in pain. The closest one was a lion, his body so thin his head looked comically large by comparison. The sight made her cringe - a mother did not hurt or harm her children.

 

“You are starving these poor animals,” she hissed in rage. “Why?” Eve went to stay by the bars of the cage, staring down into the sad eyes of the lion; he was so exhausted he did not even flinch when she foolishly slid her hand through the bars to pet his nose and face.  “ _Why_? A mother does not hurt her children!”

 

Abaddon blinked and even had the decency to blush slightly, but that soon faded, replaced with something more sinister. “I don’t have the money to keep them well fed, and the people like coming to look at them. You see, we are charitable to the poor and allow them in for almost nothing at all, and since _Crowley_ has all of the good freaks and oddities, I am stuck with second rate circus animals and one bearded woman.”

 

Eve stared at her for a moment, unsure what she was driving at. “What are you saying? What do you want from me?” Eve whispered.

 

Abaddon smirked then, a cold and terrifying gesture. “You _love_ your children Eve, I can tell. You want to be a mother again, don’t you?”

 

The words were a stark and harsh truth - she did wish to be a mother again, but she had no desire to sleep with men. Yet, she wanted children, and she wanted to tend to them. “Yes,” she admitted. “I want to be a mother again.”

 

“I have an idea, a _proposition_ , if you will. Do you want to hear it? You can be a mother again, if you partner with me on this.”

 

Eve turned her eyes back to the lion. He smelled like rotting flesh and death. Flies were circling his abdomen and when she glanced closer, she saw that his underside was black with rot. This animal was sick and deserved a mercy killing. But she was not the type of person to deal out mercy killings, so she turned her eyes back to Abaddon and stood. “Tell me.”

 

Chapter Three

 

The man with two heads made Castiel feel sick to his stomach. They argued more than anyone else he had ever known, their bodies conjoined completely. Benny was showing him around, meeting all of the oddities in Crowley’s menagerie - so far he had met three midgets, a woman who could charm snakes, a man so grotesquely fat Castiel was stunned to see him walk, a lobster clawed man, and now this two headed twin. The desire to flee made his legs twitch, but the desire to survive made him stay put and right behind Benny so as not to upset anyone. There was nothing special about Benny as far as he could tell - except that he had a love affair with one of the boys on display - but everyone seemed to like Benny. And at least Benny treated him kindly.

 

“I _told_ you that Crowley brought in someone new,” one of the heads snapped.

 

“Yes, but you didn’t say _what_ he brought in. He’s _just_ a boy! There’s nothing _special_ about him. Look at him,” the other replied.

 

“How was I supposed to know what he had brought in?! It’s not as if I could get up and walk away!”

 

Benny chuckled. “Castiel, this is Tom and Pete. Guys, this here is Castiel. Be nice to him or I’ll lock you in with Birdie again.”

 

“Ugh not _Birdie_ ,” one groaned.

 

“Yes, not Birdie. C’mon Pete, let’s get out of here before Benny does something _stupid_.”

 

Castiel blinked, still feeling reeled on his feet as the man walked away, the heads still jabbering to one another. “How is that possible?” he whispered.

 

Benny shrugged. “Beats me, Kid. C’mon, I”ll show you where you’ll be workin’.”

 

Castiel jogged to catch up with Benny as he walked away at a fast pace, stepping over a hose and sliding between wagons. “Why does Mr. Crowley want me here? I’m not a freak - I’m _not_.”

 

“He always needs extra hands,” Benny replied. “Like me. Like you.”

 

“So, you’re not a freak either?” Castiel asked.

 

“Nah, not really. I used to be the _strongman,_ but Crowley wanted me to take some damn drugs and I knocked his damn tooth out. Told him I wouldn’t be takin’ no drugs, no pills, nothin’. So, he put me on mechanic work, and that’s what I do. That’s what you’ll be doin’, too, until he finds a better use for you.” Benny handed him an empty bucket. “And he will.”

 

“He will, what?” Castiel asked.

 

“Find a better use for you. Now you fill this here bucket up and bring it over to that tent over there.” Benny pointed to the white tent next to a red wagon. “Take it inside and dump that water into the trough in there - don’t ask questions, just do it, got it? Don’t linger, either. I want you in and out in ten minutes. Go.”

 

Castiel jumped and bent to grab the hose as Benny turned the water on, filling the bucket up most of the way before attempting to lift it. The bucket was so heavy that he could barely pick it up off the ground, but Castiel did his best to haul it over to the tent, tripping and sloshing more than once, but by the time he reached his destination the bucket still remained half full so he didn’t feel too terrible about it. Inside the tent was a lot darker than he had first imagined it being, and it reeked of feces and urine.

 

After his eyes adjusted, Castiel let them roam along the contents of the tent, and he almost dropped the bucket from surprise. Along the edges were rows and rows of barred cages, each one filled with different animals - a tiger, a lion, some spotted cat he didn’t recognize, a zebra, a camel … but the one that threw him off was the animal closest to where he stood. It resembled a horse in some ways, but it also resembled a giraffe in others - yet it’s hide quarters had stripes … and the most disturbing part of all, was that it had two faces.

 

The creature stared back at him calmly, completely unaware of how disturbed Castiel felt. He almost reached out to touch it, to make sure it was actually real, but someone was snapping the tent open and yelling at him in a language he did not understand. They sounded angry, to say the least. Castiel dropped the bucket, spilling water all over, which only angered the man even more. Stammering an apology, Castiel fled the tent, turning to run back to Benny, but he only made it a few feet before literally running into him.

 

“What the devil are you doin’, boy?” Benny demanded.

 

“I - I’m sorry,” he stammered helplessly. “I didn’t mean to - what _is_ that thing? What is it?!” Castiel tried to turn back around to get a better look, but Benny was shoving him back.

 

“Go get more water,” Benny snarled, shoving the fallen bucket into his hands. “ _Now_!”

 

Castiel spun and ran back to the hose, feeling frantic. If he didn’t get the water right this time, they’d probably feed him to the tiger and lion in there. The image of the two-faced … _something_ … made him antsy. He dropped the hose three times before finally calming long enough to fill the bucket up. This time, he hurried to bring it over, and ended up sloshing even more water to the ground and all over the front of his clothing, but at least he had arrived to the tent again. Benny was speaking to the man quietly, a hand on his shoulder. Benny had a way with people, easily calming them when they did not want to be calm. Castiel had to admit, it was impressive.

 

The man gave him a dark look but did not yell at him again. Benny turned to face him and gestured at the empty trough without a word, so Castiel dumped the water inside carefully. He tried not to look at the creature again but he couldn’t help but glance over, even as Benny grabbed the back of his neck and marched him out of the tent after he had poured the water.

 

“What did I tell you?” Benny snarled.

 

“I’m sorry - I’m _sorry_ ... _what_ is that thing?” he asked, looking back over his shoulder every other step. “And who was that man?”

 

“Frank, that’s all you need to know, got it?” Benny said firmly.

 

“But, Benny -”

 

Benny spun him around roughly so he could bend down and glare at him in the eye, finger in his face. “Frank, and that’s all you  need to know. _Got it_?”

 

This time, Castiel just nodded, realizing that Benny meant business. “I understand,” he whispered.

 

“Good. Now, follow me, we’re gonna make sure the Big Top is ready to roll, alright?”

 

“Okay.” Castiel nodded, falling behind Benny, trying to stay close to him but not too close; he didn’t want to clobber the heels of his feet. The grass had straw strewn around in various places, old footprints pressed into the ground, both human and animal alike. Castiel glanced up at sky and wondered if the darkening clouds meant rain again today.

 

The Big Top was a lot smaller than he had envisioned in his head. He had been to a circus once as a child, and the Big Top there had been much larger than this one. It was not as colorful as the one from the circus of his childhood - where that one had been red and yellow, this one stood black and red. Its smaller size and coloration unnerved him for reasons he didn’t understand. Benny led him inside and they started to walk around, to make sure the stakes were all holding up, that the sides were not caving in, and that the stages were set up already.

 

“This isn’t very big,” he commented to Benny after they walked out and began to go around various side tents to make sure they were also still standing and not sagging in places.

 

“We don’t got big animals,” Benny replied shortly. “We don’t need a big tent.”

 

“You’ve got a lion and a tiger in there!” he exclaimed in protest. “Those are big -” Castiel cut off when Benny spun to face him, looking a lot angrier than before. “I’m sorry.”

 

“You talk too much, Kid.”

 

Castiel crossed his arms haughtily, “I said I was sorry.”

 

“Don’t use that tone with me, Boy, I will throw you in the cage with Albert.”

 

“Who’s Albert?” he asked.

 

Benny poked his chest so hard he flinched. “You keep talkin’, you’ll find out real soon.”

 

Castiel sighed, but refrained from speaking again. Why no one wanted to answer questions around here was beyond his imagination. Did they just snatch people off the street and tell them to keep their traps shut and to do as they were told? From the haggard looks on the workers’ faces, Castiel guessed so.

 

“What happens if I need to go to the bathroom?” He had not been able to stay quiet long, much to Benny’s chagrin.

 

“You piss in a bush or you hold it, got it?” Benny snapped as he bent to secure a rope to a stake, his hands moving quickly.

 

He opened his mouth to make a comment about toilets, but withheld. Benny could probably only take so many questions without finally snapping. However, instead of watching Benny and learning how to do his job, Castiel turned his eyes all over the sideshow. The wagons that held the performers were attached to trucks and cars; he wondered then about how they transported the animals. Were they shipped by train or also on trucks and wagons? It seemed easier to him to use a train, but there were no boxcars nearby that he could see. Maybe the war efforts made train travel more difficult, or maybe they did not make enough money for such a purchase.

 

Eventually, Benny was pulling him towards a huge wagon, one that was much bigger than the others. He had a feeling he knew who lived inside, but still Castiel kept his silence. Benny stopped abruptly, which caused Castiel to run into him and then quickly flinch away, just in case Benny had had enough of his antics today. Benny knocked on the door, and after a moment’s pause, Crowley answered - just as Cas expected.

 

“What?” Crowley said, before his eyes fell on Castiel. “Ah, our wayward lamb. Has he misbehaved already?”

 

“You told me to bring him to you when I was finished with the tents,” Benny replied casually. “Well, I’m finished with the tents, so here he is.”

 

“Excellent, you _can_ listen after all. Go about your day then.” Crowley shooed Benny away, and then Castiel stared in horror as he was being left alone with his captor. Benny didn’t look happy about it, but he walked away, leaving Castiel to stare after him. “Come inside, Castiel. Don’t make me force you.” Crowley stepped aside to allow him entrance.

 

Castiel gulped and stepped inside the wagon that Crowley called home. The inside was clean and proper, showing his British roots with the old photographs and the artwork that hung on the walls. The carpet beneath his feet sprang with a plushness that all of his homes combined had lacked. The air was also much cooler inside Crowley’s space than anywhere else at the circus. He wasn’t sure how or why, but he supposed he shouldn’t ask too many questions either. On the wall above the sitting area was a painting of Crowley - leave it to this man to have a painting of himself in his own home.

 

Somehow, Castiel was not surprised.

 

“Would you like tea?” Crowley asked politely. “Or a muffin?”

 

“No, thank you,” he replied coolly. What he _wanted_ was to know why he was even here. Clearly, Crowley wanted him for some reason or another, and he had no idea _what_ that reason was, but he was determined to find out.

 

“Suit yourself.” Crowley shuffled around for a moment before walking up to him, looking not at all friendly. The man was a mixture between a businessman and a feral cat, Castiel had surmised - he spoke with a well-educated flare, but his words seemed to drip with lie after lie, all the while toying with his prey, like a cat. “Do you know why you are here, Castiel?”

 

He almost sighed, but he held back. “No, Sir.”

 

“Oh it’s _Sir_ now, is it?” Crowley asked. “Oh, _Muffin_ , you truly are an angel, aren't you?” The way Crowley said _angel_ made Castiel uncomfortable for a reason he couldn’t identify. It wasn’t as if the man had said the word like a bad thing, or even coldly - it was something else. Almost as if that was what Crowley _wanted_ , for him to be an angel.

 

“Why am I here?” he asked, hoping to receive an answer this time.

 

Crowley slid a hand to his shoulder and started to push until Castiel took the hint and sunk to his knees. At first, he didn’t understand, until the sound of a belt unbuckling made him draw his eyes to the man’s crotch. Castiel felt his stomach fill with dread. Did Crowley expect him to have _sex_ with him? Was that what his parents had sold him for? Sex?

 

“Let us see if you can use your pretty mouth for _other_ good uses, besides asking questions,” Crowley said, his hand wrapped around his erection. “Go on.”

 

A minute passed with Castiel just staring, completely dumbfounded. He had thought that his parents had sold him to become a freak in a sideshow, but they had sold him for prostitution. Why had Crowley paid them _ten thousand_ dollars for sex? He was a virgin - he knew _nothing_ about sex or how it even worked. The only things he did know were all in his head, and they could have easily been an exaggeration of reality. This was beyond his wildest imagination and it left him feeling sick and afraid. He did not _want_ to be this man’s sex slave.

 

“ _Now_ , Castiel, or I will hand you over to the lions. Understood?”

 

Castiel nodded slowly. “I understand,” he whispered.

 

 

“Did you really let him go to Crowley?”

 

“I didn’ have a damn choice Sam,” Benny whispered. “I had to keep _you_ safe - he threatened _you_! I don’t know the kid, and I have to keep my distance from him -”

 

“So you don’t feel guilty,” Samandriel replied, finishing the sentence easily. “Am I right? Look, I can _handle_ myself. I know I’m only eighteen, but I _can_.”

 

Benny shook his head and brushed Samandriel’s hair away from his forehead. “I didn’t want to hand him over, I know he ain’t a piece of meat, but I care about you more than anythin’ else in this damn fucked up world. Look at Europe - the world is going to a Hell, and I have found my piece of Heaven in _you._ I won’t give you up for a kid I don’t know,” Benny replied fiercely, his hands going to cup Samandriel’s face firmly, pressing their foreheads together.

 

Samandriel half smiled, feeling appreciated and loved, but in the same breath he knew that the boy did not deserve to suffer at the hands of a man he did not like. No one liked Crowley - he was somewhat certain even _Crowley_ didn’t like Crowley. “I care about you too, Benny ... I just feel _bad_ for him. What do you think Crowley is gonna do to him? I mean-for the show?”

 

Benny shrugged. “I’m not really sure he’s gonna do _anything_ ,” he admitted. “I think he’s just gonna use the kid for manual labor and then - well, _another_ kind of manual labor.”

 

Samandriel shuddered. “I thought he lived on integrity. Forcing a kid to - to have sex with you does not mean they have _integrity_.”

 

Benny shook his head, “I quit questioning Crowley’s business practices years ago. I know better than that. I don’t want to end up dead or worse.”

 

An uncomfortable silence fell over them and Benny could have kicked himself. The _or worse_ he was referring to was the predicament that Samandriel’s sister had been in. Anna Milton - she had been a part of their freak show for awhile, until she had upset Crowley. Then, he had made her regret it.

 

No one _really_ knew what happened to Anna, but Benny had a feeling she had ended up going to see Alastair. No one had heard from her since, and Benny had promised Samandriel that he would never let Crowley lay a hand on him. So far, he had been able to keep that promise by keeping his head down and doing as the boss said, without question.

 

Did he feel right about it? No. Did he do it out of love? Yes.

 

“I’m sorry,” Benny whispered, before pressing an eager kiss to Samandriel’s lips.

 

“It’s okay,” Samandriel replied sleepily.

 

Benny shifted and began to roll back on top of Samandriel, feeling his thighs spreading, but then someone was knocking on the door. Benny groaned. _Why_ did everyone have to come and interrupt him during the only time he had with Sam?! Why? Sighing, he pressed a quick kiss to Samandriel’s mouth, full of promise, before walking over to yank the door open, glad that he was still dressed. A brunette woman he did not recognize stood on the ground, staring up at him.

 

“Can I help you?” he asked.

 

“Yes, you can, if you happen to know where I can find Castiel Novak.”

 

 

Thunder rumbled dangerously overhead, shaking the wagon, and rousing Castiel from sleep. He was lying in Crowley’s bed, entangled in blankets, his body sore and tired. While he had not wanted to have sex with the man, he had made peace with it and allowed it to happen without much struggle. Crowley was snoring next to him, completely out. There was someone at the door.

 

At first, Castiel did not move. Then the knocking came again, so he stood and pulled on his underwear before walking over to open the door just a smidge. Meg stood on the doorstep, so he opened the door the rest of the way, figuring she was here to see Crowley. “He’s asleep,” he whispered, but Meg had a hold of his arm and was yanking him down the steps. “Hey - wait!”

 

“Shh,” Meg hissed, pulling him along quickly.

 

“Where are we going?!” he whispered. “Meg -”

 

“I said _shh_ ,” Meg hissed again. “Jesus, do you not know _shh_ means? Now shut up and come on.”

 

Castiel glanced around the camp, it was quiet and dark, with the occasional sound of thunder still rumbling, and lightning lighting up the clouds now and again. But Castiel lowered his eyes to the back of Meg’s head as she lead him away from the circus camp, off to a blue truck which was parked behind some trees. He had no idea where they were going or why, but if she were here to save him, he was going to have to thank her often. Once he was in the truck, she climbed into the driver’s seat and they were driving down the road.

 

“Am I allowed to talk now?” he asked sincerely, but he had a feeling he came off derisive.

 

“If you fucking insist,” she replied snarkily.

 

Castiel blinked in surprise at her mouth, but he decided not to comment. He had a feeling she wouldn’t like his comments about her language. “Where are we going? Why did you take me away?”

 

“Did you _seriously_ want to be with that creep?” Meg asked.

 

“But you helped him -”

 

“I _hate_ him,” Meg snapped. “Fucker thinks he can rule the world, and he _can’t_. So, I’ve been using him, not that he knows that. The guy is smart but he’s not _that_ smart.”

 

Castiel had a feeling that Meg was not giving Crowley enough credit; he was creepy and he wasn’t a good man, but he wasn’t stupid either. Crowley was clearly intelligent, and a good businessman. “I do not believe you are giving him enough credit -”

 

“Are you _actually_ defending him? Jesus, you are way more twisted than I thought.” Meg shook her head and reached forward to switch the car radio on to keep them from talking. Castiel took the hint and focused his eyes outside on the passing landmarks.

 

He had no idea where they were going - yet again. It was extremely annoying not knowing where he was going or where he would end up later. But once again, the heaviness of his eyes won over staying awake.

 

☾ † ☽

 

The blued-eyed angel stood in the amber light of Abaddon’s trailer, dressed only in a pair of white underwear. His face was flushing pink, looking ashamed and afraid. Eve sat in the chair she had been in most of the evening reading over plans and write ups they had made about the reboot of the sideshow. They needed a name, something that would catch people’s attention since _Crowley’s Menagerie_ was currently the ruling show in the country.

 

“What’s your name again?” Abaddon asked the boy.

 

“Castiel. My name is Castiel - what is going on? No one will tell me anything -.”

 

“And you said that Crowley has no idea you’re gone?” Abaddon continued without a blink of an eye.

 

“He doesn’t know yet,” Meg answered. “Trust me, the guy was passed out and it was thundering when I went and snatched him.”

 

“Good,” Abaddon said with a smile. “ _Good_.”

 

“Will someone _please_ -”

 

“Meg, take him and put him in with the blonde girl.”

 

“Aye, aye,” Meg replied snarkily, saluting Abaddon, but soon she was leaving, Castiel in tow, despite his protests.

 

Eve returned her eyes to the plan. They had been given word about the blue-eyed boy from Meg a day or so ago, right after Abaddon had given her the _plan_. If they couldn’t match Crowley’s freaks, they were going to concoct their own. However, neither of them knew much about science or modification, but Eve had fallen in love with the idea, despite how hard it struck to home. _She could make her own children_ , Abaddon had told her. _Be a mother again_.

 

They had been writing up big plans on what to do with who they had been taking off the streets. The big plan at the moment was Blue Eyes; he looked so much like an angel, and Eve firmly believed _all_ of her children were angels in their own way, so they were going to make him into one. She wanted to share the angelic beauty of her new son with the world. They had tried an experiment once already; after a week of deliberating on what to do, however, they had failed miserably.

 

_“Hold still,” Abaddon hissed, struggling to subdue the screaming girl they had taken from the streets. “Shut her up!!”_

 

_Eve stepped in close and shoved a sock down the girl’s throat._

 

_“There, goddamn,” Abaddon sighed. “Unbelievable ... do you have the knife?”_

 

_She nodded and handed the instrument over, watching as the girl followed their every movement, tears streaming down her face, her eyes wide with fear. When Abaddon cut the girl’s clothing off, the smell of urine made them both recoil. Eve watched Abaddon cup the girl’s cheek, making her bleed, and then scream at her for being such an insolent fool._

 

_Eve calmed her with a gentle kiss to her neck before going to grab a clean towel to wipe up the mess. Eve knelt and wiped up the mess the girl had made, before tossing the now wet towel aside, shifting so she could help spread her legs for Abaddon. The girl continued to scream and struggle but Abaddon cut her again, which made her still completely._

 

_“What are we doing?” Eve asked. “To her, that is? What new daughter shall I have?”_

 

_Abaddon lifted a picture of a creature that she did not recognize; part bird and part woman. “It’s called a harpy,” Abaddon told her, clearing up the confusion._

 

_Eve released the girl’s legs. “So, how are we going to do that?”_

 

_“Hold her down,” was all Abaddon said, so Eve obeyed, and then the knife sliced into the girl’s arm, cutting from her shoulder to her wrist. Muffled screams filled the room, the iron smell of blood soon following._

 

_The crimson liquid bubbled out of the girl’s skin at too fast a rate. They both watched as the girl’s body jerked, twitched, and spasmed, her blood pouring out of her body too quickly for them to compensate. They watched her bleed out, and she died right on the table._

 

“We can’t do it ourselves,” Eve said, which made Abaddon glare. “We _can’t_ , and you know it.”

 

“I am aware of what we can and cannot do, I am taking care of it. Relax.” Abaddon walked over to press a kiss to Eve’s mouth, teasing her tongue along her bottom lip until Eve allowed her entrance.

 

“As long as you know what you are doing,” Eve said, turning her eyes back to the plans they had in store. Their show would be the best in the country, and her children would be beautiful, everyone would talk about them. “I think I know what we should call the show,” she murmured, more to herself than Abaddon.

 

“What?” Abaddon asked.

 

“Eve’s Children,” she said, slowly raising her eyes to Abaddon’s.

 

Abaddon raised an eyebrow. “And where do I fit in-”

 

“I don’t mean me,” Eve replied, which was a lie. “As in The First Children. The children of Adam and Eve.”

 

“I like The First Children better,” Abaddon commented.

 

Eve mulled over the name, slowly nodding. In her mind they would always be _her_ children, but if Abaddon wanted to name the show _The First Children_ , then that would be the name. “Perfect.”

 

Chapter Four

 

“Where are we going?” Castiel demanded of Meg as she forcibly walked him towards an old building that resembled a barn - or what used to be a barn. The walls were scorched as if it had caught fire once, one side of the building had started to collapse in on itself, and Castiel was starting to believe that Meg was not the savior he had believed her to be. “Meg -”

 

“Be quiet,” she snapped, her hand on the back of his neck as they walked. She threw the barn door open and shoved him inside.

 

Castiel stumbled forward, and when he could focus on where he had ended up, his heart stopped for a moment. There were cages, like in Crowley’s circus tents, but these cages were not filled with animals - they were filled with people. He spun around to protest, but Meg backed him up into his own cage, slamming the door in his face.

 

“Have fun in Hell, Angel,” Meg purred as she walked away, the door shutting behind her.

 

Castiel screamed, rattling the cage in fear. He had been taken from a man who had wanted him for sex, which he had thought had been bad, but clearly that had been nothing compared to _this_. He did not want to be locked in a cage like an animal- he was a human being, not a dog. His screams echoed around the barn and when he turned to look at the others, he saw that they were  looking back at him with empty, sunken eyes. Every one of them looked afraid and tired, and he wondered how long they had been here. Most of them were naked, thin, and dirty. Castiel felt his stomach clench and he really needed to pee. From the smell of the room, he had a feeling he knew where he would be relieving himself.

 

“Hey,” someone whispered.

 

Castiel jumped and almost smacked the girl in the face. He was not alone in this cage. “Oh God - I’m sorry -” he apologized, quickly falling away from her to lean back against the cage wall.

 

“I’m Jo,” she said, and Castiel saw a hint of a smile on her face. “What’s your name?”

 

“Castiel,” he replied.

 

Jo looked him over and then her face contorted to something sad. She knew something he didn’t. “I’m really sorry about this.”

 

“It’s not your fault,” he said, confused. “You didn’t ask them to take me ...”

 

“No, but I’m still sorry you’re in this situation, too. Especially since I know what they’re going to do to you. I heard them talking the other day, and if you’re the Blue Eyes they were talking about -” Jo shook her head and shut up.

 

Castiel sat forward, his fear making his bladder scream. “What? What are they going to do to me?”

 

“I can’t, I’m sorry,” Jo whispered, withdrawing from him as quickly as she had opened up.

 

“Jo! _Tell_ me!” Someone from across the room shushed him so Castiel held back his protest. Meg had called this hell and Castiel had a feeling she hadn’t been exaggerating. “What do they want with us?” he asked quietly.

 

Jo sighed, leaning back into her corner. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I mean, I guess I know why they picked me to be snatched up. I was working a corner because my Mom and Dad are dead, and I had no way of making any money. No one would miss me, but you look like you got parents somewhere.”

 

“They sold me,” Castiel snapped bitterly. “To Mr. Crowley.”

 

Jo whistled. “Wow, Meg really hates him after all. I mean, I’d heard that they were going to steal someone from him, but I didn’t think they’d really do it. Sorry you got picked, Cas.”

 

“Me too.”

 

“Also, sorry about your folks. That’s messed up. At least mine are dead.” Jo picked up a piece of straw to roll between her fingers. “You believe in God?”

 

“No.” No God would have let this happen in Castiel’s opinion. No merciful God at least.

 

“Yeah, me neither.” Jo sighed and tossed the straw away. “Good night, Cas.”

 

“Good night, Jo.” He watched Jo settle down, her breathing soon slowing to something more rhythmic and even. Castiel copied her motion, curling up with his back to the wall, and his front to the door so hopefully nothing could sneak up on him. Sleep had been claiming him for days, but now that it actually mattered, he could not slow his racing mind. There was no feasible way to escape at the minute, but Castiel still kept the hope of escaping in the back of his mind. If he gave up now, he would never make it out alive.

 

 

He had to survive.

 

 

The brick house stood above them, reaching its black roof to the sky as if stretching to reach the heavens, its windows like unseeing black eyes, and its dark door a gaping maw. The porch creaked beneath their feet as Abaddon and Eve ascended the stairs, walking up to the ring the bell. The chill in the air added to the unnerving feeling they both had, but when the door opened, it was Eve, and not Abaddon who took charge.

 

“Mr. Mauvais?”

 

“Doctor,” he corrected her coolly. “Dr. Mauvais.”

 

“Forgive me,” Eve said with a kind smile. “I was wondering if we could speak with you a moment? We have ... a business venture we believe you would be interested in.”

 

Dr. Mauvais frowned slightly, glancing them over once. “Hm, what is your name?”

 

“Eve. This is Abaddon. We’ve heard of your _work_ and were _fascinated_ by what you have done in the medical field. We were hoping to hire your services for our business.” She offered him a calm smile, hands going to clasp in front of her stomach.

 

“You have seen my work?” he asked. A slow smile came to his face. “Come in. Please.”

 

Eve smiled at Abaddon before entering Dr. Mauvais’ home, glancing around. On the inside, it appeared normal: old, vintage furniture, plush carpets, bookcases lined every wall, filled to the brim with leather bound books. The ceilings were high, much higher than she had first imagined. Dr. Mauvais led them from the front room off towards a sun room, where the weak light filtered in through the cold, gray clouds in the sky. He offered them tea.

 

“No, thank you,” Abaddon replied as she sat in a chair precariously.

 

“Yes,” Eve answered, still smiling. If they were polite with this man, he would probably come and work for them for free. His curiosity was so wild he probably would not require much payment as long as they helped pay for any equipment he may need.

 

When the doctor walked away, Eve turned to look at Abaddon, feeling confident, but from the look on Abaddon’s face, she could tell her lover was having doubts.

 

“You look unsure,” Eve whispered. “What’s the matter?”

 

“He isn’t what I expected,” Abaddon answered evenly, her eyes roaming the sunroom.

 

“What did you expect? For him to have something wrong with him? He experiments on people for fun, Abaddon. I am sure he is just as twisted as you inside,” Eve assured her.

 

Abaddon went to speak again, but then Dr. Mauvais returned with a teacup in hand, handing it over delicately. Eve thanked him and then the doctor joined them in a chair, hands resting along the arm rests calmly. Alastair Mauvais looked calm, collected, and polite, his beard well trimmed, his hair well styled, and his suit smart and sharp. The man clearly had plenty of money, and from all of the books in his home, Eve had a feeling he was a prolific reader.

 

“How can I help you ladies?” Dr. Mauvais asked.

 

“Well, Dr. Mauvais -” Eve began.

 

“You may call me Alastair, young lady.”

 

She smiled, even blushing slightly. “Alastair ... Abaddon and I have started a sideshow business, but ... the _kinds_ of people we want to exhibit just ... are hard to come by. We have been doing some research on scientists and doctors, the best of the best, and your name kept coming up. I have a feeling you can help us achieve our goals with ease.”

 

Alastair steepled his fingers together, nodding his head now and again as Eve spoke. “A sideshow, eh?”

 

“Yes, Sir. We have many specimens, and we tried some experiments ourselves,” Eve glanced over at Abaddon, before continuing, “but they did not go _well_. We lost a girl because we are not medically knowledgeable.”

 

“And you believe I can help you?”

 

“Yes,” Eve replied with a firm nod.

 

“We had heard that you were removed from medical school,” Abaddon said. Eve wanted to pinch her. She had _told_ her not to mention his dismissal - it was rude.

 

“I was,” Alastair replied, his voice still calm and collected. “The men at Hopkins did not know what they were doing when they dismissed me.”

 

“Your medical research is astounding,” Eve assured him firmly. “Truly.”

 

Alastair smiled at the compliment. “You are a very polite young woman. I enjoy polite women and men. _Rude_ people make me ... tense.” He glanced at Abaddon pointedly before turning his eyes back on Eve.

 

“I see,” Eve replied slowly. “Doctor ... would you be willing to help us? You could experiment as much as you liked, further your research.”

 

 

So much silence that both Eve and Abaddon began to shift around in their seats uncomfortably before Alastair finally nodded. “I believe I can help you. When may I start?”

 

Eve grinned. “As soon as you like, Doctor.”

 

Alastair returned her smile. “Excellent.”

 

 

The barn door creaked and groaned as it opened. Castiel slowly pried his eyes open, allowing them to adjust to the sudden burst of gray light filtering into the barn. Everyone stirred, sitting up quickly to look to who had come. One of the women from the previous night walked in, her long red hair curled around her shoulders, a cruel smile on her face.

 

“Which would you like to start with, Doctor?” she asked.

 

Castiel turned his eyes from her to the new man walking in. He wore a long white coat, his slacks and loafers dark, his beard well trimmed, and the smile on his lips twisted and malicious. Immediately, Castiel shrunk away from the light, trying to remain still and out of sight. Whoever this man was, Castiel did not want anything to do with him.

 

The doctor pointed to a cage, his fingernails long and sharp. The man in the cage stared back at him with wide eyes. “That one. Bring him.”

 

The woman - Castiel remembered her name starting with an A - unlocked the cage and dragged the screaming man out by the back of his neck. Castiel flinched and shut his eyes, wishing away the evil of this place. He could not drown out the screams of the chosen man no matter how hard he tried. Castiel wrapped his arms around his knees and pulled them to his chest, burying his face in the darkness between his chest and legs. Pretending would do nothing, he knew, but it was better than facing this reality.

 

“He will do,” the doctor replied. Castiel did not like the man’s voice; for one thing, he didn’t recognize the accent, and for another he sounded too calm, too relaxed. The doctor was too polite. It left a cold feeling in Castiel’s blood and a stone in his stomach.

 

His captors, the doctor, and the poor man who had been chosen at random, all left, and the barn door shuddered shut, leaving them all to sit in shocked silence. Or maybe he was the only one in shock, perhaps this was a common occurrence. When he glanced over at Jo he saw that she was just as pale as him, so perhaps this was _not_ a common occurrence.

 

“What do you think that was about?” he asked. He looked at Jo, but really he would have accepted an answer from anyone.

 

“Nothing good,” someone replied. “Nothing good at all.”

 

Castiel gulped. “Have you not seen that man before?” he asked Jo.

 

“No,” she whispered, still staring at the shut door. Her lips were pale and shaking, just like the rest of her. “I have no idea who he is.”

 

“They called him Doctor… but I don’t think he’s a real doctor.”

 

“Well, they won’t be doctoring Andy’s wounds up that’s for sure,” a boy across from their cage said. “You okay in there, Jo?”

 

“I’m fine, Adam ... how are you holding up?” she asked, coming to rest closer to the front of the cage so she could see Adam better.

 

Adam shrugged slightly. “Still alive.”

 

Jo looked over at him. “That’s Adam, a friend of mine. We were taken together.”

 

“Nice to meet you,” Adam said with a weak smile. “Castiel, right?”

 

He nodded, “Yes.”

 

“Don’t worry, we’ll get outta here,” Adam said, sounding so sure. “My father will look for us.”

 

Castiel frowned and looked to Jo, about to speak up but she quickly shook her head. He watched her look at Adam and nod, “That’s right,” she said with a fake smile. “He will.” She withdrew and returned to her corner, and then it grew quiet again.

 

Castiel joined her, trying not to crowd her space but he did not want to be alone either. “What was that?” he whispered, hoping that Adam could not hear them if they spoke low enough.

 

Jo bit her lip, chewing along the edges for a moment. “He thinks his father is still alive,” she muttered. “As far as I know, he’s not... and if he is, he’s probably buried in a heap of beer and whiskey bottles. The man was a drunk.”

 

“How did you two meet?” he asked.

 

“I knew him when we were kids, we went to school together before my folks died and I had to survive on my own. He comes to me, all beaten up because his dad did him in, and we were kind of living together. He would hustle money and I would sleep with men to earn more. Not glamorous by a long shot, but we were able to keep some food between us.” She cut off, glancing down at the floor and shifting the straw around. The look on her face made Castiel think of his mother when she would become upset over how little money they had, how _lost_ she would feel.

 

“I’m sorry you’re here, too.” Castiel slid his hand to rest on her arm gently. “If we get out of here, we can all go off together -”

 

“No offense Cas,” she cut him off, “but we don’t know you. If there’s a chance Adam and I can get out of here, we’re taking it. You’ll have to find your own way. It’s just been me and Adam for years, and that’s how it’s going to stay. Okay?”

 

Castiel drew in a sharp breath, quickly withdrawing his hand from her arm. He had grown up believing that if he were a friend to everyone, then the better off he’d be. Friendliness came easily to him, as did befriending people he hardly knew. He had figured that if he made friends with Jo and her friends, then they would have a better chance of surviving, maybe even escaping, but she did not want to be his friend. Shifting, Castiel slid away from her, resentment filling his chest.

 

They did not make eye contact again, and Castiel leaned his head against the cage bars, eyes drifting shut. He only meant to shut them for a few moments, just so they could rest and he could come up with a plan, but when he opened them again it was dark, Jo was missing, and the cage door was ajar. He stared at the cage door and realized that it was open just enough that he could slip through to safety, but something stopped him. He remained in the corner, unmoving. There was something wrong.

 

Something shuffling outside of the barn made Castiel jerk his eyes over to the open door. Enough moonlight came through to illuminate the the creature that stepped across the threshold. Castiel had no idea what it was, but it didn’t look _human -_ it walked on all fours, in some jarring and unnatural way, as if the effort tired the animal. It sniffed at the air and Castiel saw with horror that it did have a human head, but it’s nose was gone, as were most of its skin; the lips were peeled away, revealing a set of human teeth, filed down and sharpened.

 

Castiel remained still, his eyes moving to the open door of his cage, fear gripping his limbs. He had to shut the door. The creature moved closer, trying to peer at him through the shadow Castiel sat in, tilting its head to the side. He could barely make out that the creature had no arms and legs - instead, its body was fused to metal, spring stilts, allowing it to walk. The sound it made, a cross between a human scream and an animalistic screech, made Castiel jump and yank the cage door shut, relaxing when the lock clicked. He had never been more happy to be locked in a cage.

 

After the door was safely shut, Castiel returned to his corner and watched as the creature awkwardly walked from cage to cage, as if it were looking for someone. He was so focused on the creature that when a scream sounded outside of the barn, he jumped so badly that he pissed himself. He had refused to go for so long that he was surprised he hadn’t gone in his sleep. The warm urine made embarrassment and shame fill his core, and it also drew the creature back over to his cage. It screamed at him, and Castiel saw that its tongue had been split in half, each half moving on its own accord. Blood ran down its neck and shoulders, to drip onto the ground outside the cage.

 

Castiel shut his eyes, but the image would not leave his eyelids. Andy. The creature had been Andy once. Whatever this _doctor_ had done to him made bile rise in Castiel’s throat. One more shriek and the creature walked away. What had the doctor done to Andy to make him inhuman? Maybe some type of drug had made him act like a monstrous animal. How he was not in pain was beyond Castiel’s understanding. He kept his eyes shut firmly until the scream sounded again and he could not help but open them. Jo came flying into the barn, stumbling and tripping through the door - she fell to her hands and knees, and then began to crawl over to the cage. Her eyes grew wide when she saw the door was now shut and locked.

 

“Castiel - Castiel open the door - _open the door_!” she screamed, rattling the cage in desperation. “Open the door!”

 

Castiel moved to open it, but it was locked and he did not have a key to unlatch it. “I - I’m sorry -” he whispered, staring at her in horror.

 

“No, no open it! Open it!” Jo shook the cage more, but the door did not budge.

 

Castiel stared at her front and saw that she was covered in blood, it ran thick down from under her breast to slide between her legs. He quickly withdrew his eyes and looked up at her face. He apologized again. Andy was circling back, his movements jagged and slow. She screamed again, rattling the cage door. Castiel gasped, panting in fear. He wanted to return to the safety of his corner, but he remained by the door, trying to see if the lock could be broken or popped somehow. Jo begged him, tears streaming down her face, and into her voice, for him to open the door, but there was nothing he could do.

 

Andy had finally made his way over, and Jo screamed, quickly scrambling to the top of the cage, kicking him in the face as she went. Andy shrieked, seemingly thwarted now that she was out of his reach. He could not climb after her and she remained on the top of the cage, shoved up against the wall. Castiel banged on the door, drawing Andy’s attention back to him.

 

“Leave her alone!” he screamed.

 

Andy screeched an answer, spitting blood on Castiel’s face. He looked up at Jo and began to pace, limbs jutting and jerking. Castiel had a feeling that Jo would be stuck up there all night, or at least until someone came to force her back down. Either she had been let out under false pretenses, or somehow had gotten the cage open from the inside, but his money was on the former. If she knew how to open the cage from the inside, she would have told him how. Andy screeched in anger and distress several times, and finally Castiel drew back to his corner, where Jo sat overhead.

 

“Are you okay, Jo?” he whispered. “You were bleeding a lot -”

 

“I’m fine,” she whispered. “It’s just a gash, I’m fine.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“The door - it was open ... so I ran. I shouldn’t have ran ... I figured you’d wake up and come after me, but you were smart. You stayed here. I should have stayed here.” The last bit came out as a sob. “Adam’s _dead_.”

 

Castiel flinched, his eyes turning over to Adam’s cage. Now that she had drawn his attention to it, he saw that his door was also open. Had someone heard Jo talking about taking Adam and leaving earlier? That was the only explanation he could think as to why someone would purposefully open up _those_ to two cage doors in particular. Nothing else made sense. “They must have heard you earlier,” he told her quietly. “About taking off -”

 

“Shut up,” Jo snapped. “I _know,_ okay? I know. You don’t have to rub it in.”

 

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to -”

 

“Shh!!” Jo hissed then, insistent.

 

Castiel silenced and soon he heard the same thing she had heard - someone was walking up to the barn door. Jo had nowhere to hide. _None_ of them had anywhere to hide, but Castiel supposed he would rather be in a cage than out there with Andy. The doctor from earlier appeared in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room. Either he couldn’t see them in the dark, or Jo had found something to hide behind. For a moment, Castiel believed that he would give up and leave, even as he came to stand close to Andy, his hand patting him on the head like a dog. Then, his cold, sharp eyes turned on Castiel’s cage and his blood ran cold.

 

“Ah,” the doctor purred. “There you are.”

 

Jo screamed as the doctor reached out and dragged her down to the ground by her hair, ripping out a chunk in her attempt to get away. Castiel shuddered when the doctor dropped the lock of blonde curls, bile threatening to come up at the sight of blood and tissue attached on the ends. Jo attempted to run back out the front door, but Castiel saw too late that the doctor had a gun. The sound left his ears ringing, and when he could see again, Jo was lying on the ground, but she was not dead. He had shot her in the back, and she couldn’t move, but her screams still filled the barn.

 

“Silly bird,” the doctor said. “Have to clip your wings.”

 

Castiel did vomit when he saw Andy walk over and bend to bite her right on the fleshy part of her stomach, ripping her open like a stuffed doll. Blood and other bodily fluids went flying, spattering the walls, some of it landing on Castiel’s toes. The smell of iron filled his nose, and soon he was vomiting again. Not that he had much to vomit up - he wasn’t sure when he had eaten last. The doctor walked over and slammed his hand on top of his cage, forcing Castiel to jerk his head up, alarmed.

 

“Ah yes, pretty Blue Eyes. They _told_ me about you.” The doctor grinned and laughed. “You’ll make a lovely angel.”

 

Castiel gulped and dared to look to Jo and Andy again. She was staring at him, her stomach and chest a mess, but he could see she was still breathing, shallowly. Her eyes were glassed over and Castiel felt tears enter his own. Andy was going to eat her alive and this doctor was gladly standing and watching, seeming to even _enjoy_ what was transpiring. It left him feeling sick. The doctor had something in store for him, and Castiel prayed it was nothing like what had happened to Andy.

 

“What kind of doctor _are_ you?” he dared to hiss.

 

He turned to look at Castiel, smiling. “I am Dr. Alastair Mauvais. _Charmed_ to have your acquaintance, Blue-Eyes.”

 

Hands shaking, Castiel clenched them into fists, remaining on his side of the cage. Jo had finally stopped breathing and Alastair stepped over her as if she were simply garbage on the ground. The rest of the night, Andy ripped and chewed through her, bones and all.

 

 

The hunger pangs in his stomach were making his body cramp up - how long had it been since he last had something to eat? Not that hunger needed to be his first worry, his real first worry was whether he was going to wake up in fight of his life or not. The second worry was dehydration - his mouth was so dry, and his head felt so heavy he could hardly lift it off of the ground where he had made a nest for himself in the straw. The cage smelled putrid from all of the times he had relieved himself and no one had come to clean it up. Glassy eyes moved to look at the deep blood stain on the ground where Jo had lain and been eaten alive.

 

Ever since Andy had eaten her, no one had come for any of them. Not to feed, water, or attend them. Someone had whispered a hope that perhaps they had been forgotten or perhaps Andy had eaten all of them too. Castiel did not believe they would ever be that lucky. The morning had come without much incident, and Castiel lay in his spot, shivering and shaking from the cold air, eyes staring at the blood stain, until footsteps sounded outside the door. He shut his eyes and pretended to sleep, wishing he had better control of his breathing, but he was so cold. The sound of his cage door slowly unlatching made him tense up.

 

“Wake up.” Came Meg’s snappy tone. “Come on.”

 

Castiel lifted his head. When she reached into grab him, he bit her, which made her scream and recoil. Her blood filled his mouth, making his stomach churn, but he spat it out onto the ground, glaring at her in defiance.

 

“I said, get up,” Meg growled. She reached in again, grasping him by the hair, yanking him out. He had to move with her or lose his hair and scalp with it. “Good boy.”

 

He spat at her in rage, but with a few more prods, he stumbled out of the barn and into the daylight. The cold bit into his skin the entire way they stumbled to a truck that was built to hold livestock in the back. Meg shoved him in, locking the trailer door behind him, and then with a pound on the side, the truck began to rumble away. He did not know where he was being taken to, but Castiel had a feeling he knew _who_ he was going to be seeing. Alastair’s cold eyes appeared behind his closed eyelids. The doctor was going to turn him into something like Andy - and then God only knew what they would do with him.

 

Andy had not been in the barn the morning after Jo had been killed. Her body had either been eaten whole or removed, and the only reminder that remained was the blood staining the dirt. Castiel considered finding a way to kill himself before he arrived to his fate, but there was nothing around to do the act. The only thing in the back of the truck were bales of straw or hay, he wasn’t sure which. Presumably straw, since he could see someone’s mess darkening an area towards the back. If he simply stopped breathing, he would eventually pass out and just breathe on his own - he had done that once, just to see what would happen. He could not kill himself just by not breathing.

 

Castiel sat huddled on the floor, feeling every bump on the road ram into his tailbone and up through his spine to the back of his head. He glanced at the door to the trailer - if he could get it open, he could escape. But there was no way to pry that open with just his bare hands, especially not in his weakened state. His mouth was so dry his tongue felt like a dead weight in his mouth - maybe if they didn’t give him water soon he’d die of dehydration, but somehow he doubted this would happen. They’d find a way to keep him alive. Tears filled his eyes as he accepted his doom. He no longer believed in God, but if there was a chance God still existed, he prayed that he would die on the operating table. He did not want to live like Andy.

 

The truck slowed to a stop, and Castiel braced himself. One more chance of escape would be to run, but he would have to be ready when the trailer’s door opened and Meg pulled him out. He would have to fight as hard as he possibly could to escape. Castiel waited and waited, listening for the car door to slam shut - ah yes finally - and then Meg was coming around, the door was opening, he would leap out -

 

Meg had a gun in her hand. “Just a little insurance policy,” she told him.

 

The last bit of hope unraveled like string, collecting on the floor with the dust and dirt. Defeated, Castiel stepped down and allowed Meg to take him up to the old Victorian house. For a moment, he thought they were going inside, but Meg grabbed him and dragged him around the side of the house to where a cellar door lay open. The butt of the gun knock him down the first few steps, and he almost lost his balance, but was able to catch himself before he crashed all the way down.

 

“Be _careful,_ Meg,” Alastair snapped. The doctor’s cold hands steadied him, and Alastair even helped him down the last few steps. The cellar did not look like a cellar, at least not what he was used to seeing. The entire room was clean, covered in plastic tarps and painted stark white. The floor beneath his feet was cold tile, and in the middle of the room was a table that Castiel had a feeling worked as an operating table.

 

“Hey, I’m just bringing you the goods,” Meg replied. She held out her hand expectantly and Alastair handed over some cash.

 

“Go,” Alastair said, shooing her away. “Shut the doors on your way.”

 

Meg nodded, gave Castiel an unreadable look, and then she was disappearing up the stairs, the heavy cellar doors shutting behind her with a shuddering slam. He turned his eyes back to the doctor, but Alastair was walking away from him, going over to a sink to wash his hands. Castiel watched him warily, his eyes darting around the room for a way out .The doors had sounded too heavy for him to successfully lift them on his own, but he could always try to run. This could be his last chance.

 

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Alastair spoke up from the sink, turning around slowly as he dried his hands on a white towel. “Run, that is. They’ve all tried it, and I’ve made their stay here a bit worse for it.”

 

Castiel froze, his legs locking, his body shaking and shivering glancing down at his naked body, unwilling to move. “What are you going to do to me?” he whispered shakily.

 

Alastair chuckled, smiling. “Give you your wings, of course. You are going to be the _loveliest_ act in our show. You will enjoy your transformation. Do you wish to see the picture?”

 

Castiel did not answer him, he only continued to watch Alastair from a safe distance, his eyes narrowed and body taut. The good doctor did not wait for him to answer, instead he held up a piece of paper that looked as if it had been cut from a book - no, the _Bible_. The image was of an angel, his wings vast and large, and his hands glowing with God’s might.

 

That explained why everyone kept calling him _angel_.

 

“I’m no angel,” he said.

 

“No, not yet,” Alastair agreed, “but you will be. Come to the table, do not make me force you as I had to do with the others. You won’t like it.”

 

His legs were still locked in place, and he did not walk over to the insane man. He would not willingly give himself over to this _doctor_. The man _was_ insane, and Castiel would not allow him to transform him as he had done with Andy. “No,” he whispered, defiant and cold.

 

Alastair laughed, setting the image down on another smaller table. “Oh, Castiel, do not fight me. I will make you a little _uglier_ for it, no matter how angry that makes your Mother.”

 

He frowned. “My Mother?”

 

“Yes. _Eve_. She keeps referring to you all as her _children_. She’s been angry with me for ruining them all, but -” Alastair shrugged, holding up his hands in an innocent gesture, “what can I do? You all fight, kick, bite, and scream ... and we can’t have that, now, can we? Mmm, no. Come, come to the table, Castiel.”

 

“No,” he growled again, his feet staying planted on the floor.

 

Alastair grew visibly angry then - his face turned a deeper shade of red and his eyes narrowed, looking darker than before, almost black. “I said _come here_ , Castiel.”

 

“And I said _no_!” he screamed back. “I will not give myself up willingly to a _mad man_!”

 

Alastair began to approach him, and finally Castiel was able to make his legs move. He turn and ran back up the steps to the cellar, shoving his shoulder hard into the wooden door. Hot, searing pain ran from his clavicle and down into his arm, but Castiel continued to shove, until finally he felt the door give way. It fell open with a loud groan, and finally he could feel the taste of freedom. Feet almost becoming entangled in each other, he jumped and ran, not even paying attention to the direction, he just needed to run as fast as possible. He could hear Alastair coming after him, but looking back would have cost him, so he kept his eyes straight ahead.

 

The road.

 

There was the road. He had to get to the road.

 

“Castiel!” Alastair screamed his name, sounding angry, truly _angry_ for the first time. The man had always come off so polite, but now he sounded enraged.

 

Castiel’s feet flew to the road, ignoring the shooting pain in his shoulder, arm, and the gravel beneath his feet. If he ran long enough, he was bound to come across a vehicle, and he was certain that someone would stop for a naked kid rushing down the road for his life. He was so close to the pavement that he could have sobbed in relief, a few more strides and he would be away from the driveway, the house, and the insanity that he was quickly leaving behind. He would have taken Crowley’s sex over this any day of the week - hell, he would have went _home_ before going back to Alastair and his sick experiments.

 

One more stride, just one more.

 

Pain that made his vision go white made him trip and fall, a scream escaping his lungs. Blood was running down his calf and sprinkling on the ground. When he twisted his torso, he could see that Alastair had shot him in the back of his knee. Gravel cut into his shins and beneath his fingernails as he scraped at the ground, attempting to scramble towards the road. Pushing as hard as he could, Castiel attempted to get up again, but his leg gave out, and he crashed back onto the cold driveway. Alastair’s hands were on him soon after.

 

 

“Do you think he will be beautiful?” Eve asked Abaddon as they came upon the cellar doors.

 

“He better be,” Abaddon growled. “He’s already ruined Andy and the blonde girl. Of course, I’m sure people will still pay money to see Andy.”

 

Eve nodded. They were not sure what experiment Alastair had performed on the young man, but he no longer had arms or legs, they had been cut off and in their absence had been replaced with springs and rods, forcing the young man to walk on all fours. His face had been horribly mangled and cut away, revealing his teeth, which had been sharpened and filed so they could tear through flesh. He had then been injected with some type of serum, neither of them knew what it consisted of, but it had left the young man wild as an animal. Jo, “the blonde girl” as Abaddon referred to her, had been eaten alive after attempting escape.

 

Alastair had insisted that would be best, since they could not afford children who would constantly try to escape their new home. Eve was not prepared for her children to flee the nest yet, and a mother always took care of her children. She had insisted that Alastair not mangle her children’s faces any longer, not unless it made them more beautiful. She wanted them well taken care of, medical experiments aside.

 

They knocked on the doors, and only had to wait a moment, before they were swinging open. Alastair stared up at them, a smile on his face, and he immediately said, “You will like this one.”

 

Eve hurried down the steps on the doctor’s heels, approaching where her blue-eyed angel lay on the table, face down. White wings, beautiful wings, had been attached to his back - which was a disgusting, and bloody mess. She turned her eyes on Alastair angrily. “You’ve scarred him.”

 

“It could not be helped,” Alastair replied evenly. “They had to go into him _somehow_ \- you are lucky he still pertains the use of his arms.”

 

Eve looked the boy over, staring at the damage done to his back where Alastair had surgically implanted the large white appendages - he would look just like a fallen angel when he was awake and upright.

 

“Can they be moved?” Abaddon asked.

 

Alastair nodded as he washed his hands clean in a sink. “A mechanical system will be attached to them, and they can be operated behind screen. He will not be able to move them on his own, they will be remain in a bind so he can still walk and move around without them dragging and becoming damaged.”

 

Eve nodded, trailing her fingers through the boy’s hair. “My sweet little angel,” she whispered, a smile twitching her lips. “He is beautiful, Alastair, keep his wound clean.”

 

The doctor nodded and set the towel in his hands aside. “I will do my best.”

 

“Good.” Eve continued to pet Castiel’s dark hair. “When he wakes, I wish to see him. My sweet, sweet child. My new baby boy.”

 

“I will keep you both informed. He will take longer to heal, and will need a longer recuperation time, since you do not want him pumped with the serum. You will not be able to put him in the show right away,” Alastair warned.

 

“I understand,” Eve replied, her voice soft, loving. “He is beautiful, Abaddon, look at him.”

 

“I see him,” Abaddon snapped coldly. “And I see a broken teenager who will probably die from infection-”

 

“He will _not_ die!” she snapped angrily, casting a death glare on Abaddon. “He will not die.”

 

Abaddon rolled her eyes and walked away, leaving the cellar behind. Eve watched her go, rage in her heart - Abaddon was too negative, she did not _care_ about her children. It angered her. She turned her eyes back on the boy, softening. “He is a beautiful boy, I look forward to hearing on his progress.”

 

Alastair nodded again. “Have a ... good night, Eve.”

 

She bent to press a kiss to Castiel’s soft hair, whispering in his ear, “Good night my sweet angel.”

 

Chapter Five

 

At age seven Castiel had taken a harsh fall and broken his left leg after crashing against some ocean rocks. He also had almost drowned but that was beside the point; he remembered the _pain_ his leg had been in distinctly. Never once before in his life had he felt pain so severe, nor afterwards ... but he could no longer say that, because the pain he woke up in was so terrible he screamed, unable to move at all. There were heavy weights on his body, keeping him from moving his arms or legs.

“Ah, music to my ears,” Alastair said, and Castiel _remembered_. The man had intended to turn him into an angel. “Your Mother believes you to be _beautiful_. But I suppose we shall see when you stand up.”

“I - I can’t move,” he sobbed, tears streaming down his face from the agony in his spine. “God, it hurts - _it hurts_!”

At his shoulder blades it felt as if something were inside him, something that was not muscle or bone. When he attempted to move his arms, it pulled and stretched, making his vision go white, and he felt himself vomiting. Alastair was upon him them, moving his head slightly so when he threw up the bile would hit the floor and not asphyxiate him.

“Stay awake, boy,” Alastair growled, patting his cheeks as darkness began to threaten his peripherals. “Wake up.”

He threw up again, this time lifting slightly, purposefully aiming for the bastard’s shoes. His back and spine felt as if they were on fire, the agony was almost unbearable. He watched through hazy vision as Alastair approached him with a syringe. He wanted to ask what it was, but he couldn’t form the words. His body ached too much and he wanted to sleep. Darkness was creeping in like an old friend, extending its hand and grasping to pull him under.

“This will help your pain,” Alastair replied. He did not sound happy about this, which was not surprising. Castiel had a feeling the doctor _wanted_ him to be in pain. The needle sank into the skin of his arm and he felt absolutely nothing. Were his arms numb? Could he even use them or were they now useless, dead weights?

“I can’t feel my arms,” he muttered, feeling exhausted and worn out after barely exerting himself. He wanted to sleep for the rest of eternity but the pain was fading, if only by a hair.

“The use of your arms should return to you,” Alastair said. He began to walk around, closing cabinets and rearranging vials of what looked like blood. “However, you may never have full function of them again ... which will make it quite hard for you to run away again.”

Castiel felt his stomach drop. He would not be surprised if Alastair had purposefully taken away the use of his arms. If he couldn’t run, then he couldn’t escape, which was the main goal of his captors. “No,” he whispered brokenly.

“Oh _yes_ ,” Alastair whispered right in his ear before walking away, whistling a tune that reminded him of the circus. Castiel could not turn his head to look at him, but he heard Alastair ascend steps, open a door, and then he was alone in this cellar, unable to move or do anything about his predicament.

He could attempt to rise to his feet, but even trying to move his arms so he could push himself up was nearly impossible. Twitching his fingers proved difficult but once he got them moving he could wiggle them, which was better than not being able to move at all. Trepidation filled him from from head to toe, his heart slamming against his ribs so hard it left him breathless with pains in his chest. Was he dying? While part of him wanted the pain in his body to cease and for his eyes to close forever, there was another part of him that wanted to _live_. He did not want to live like this, but he still did not wish to die either.

He took a deep breath.

Then another.

And another.

Panic began to ease away, his terror fading. His heart rate slowed to a normal speed and he could breathe again without gasping or feeling pain in his chest and arms. He wasn’t dying, he was going to walk out of here. Eventually. Not the same way he came in, but he would still live to see another day, and hopefully escape eventually. Surely a _real_ doctor would take pity on him and return his body to normal. His mind began to turn out thoughts of his childhood, his eyes slowly closing at the memories.

Before the War, his older brother Gabriel had made him a promise - that he would not be drafted, and he would always be around for him. However, not soon after the U.S. became involved, Gabriel had been drafted and shipped off to Europe. They had been surviving on his wages as a soldier, even though they weren’t much, but then one day, not soon after he had written his first letter, a knock had come to the door. When his mother had answered, Castiel had looked down the hall to see a man in uniform, holding a folded flag in his hands. He had come to inform that Gabriel had been identified as one of the dead.

He had never heard his mother scream before, but she did that day, collapsing right there in the foyer. Not long after Gabriel’s passing and funeral, they had moved to New Jersey. His parents had claimed it was for monetary reasons, but Castiel had figured it was due to his mother not being able to function without her oldest son. She needed away from the home they had grown up in before the war claimed her, too. They had never really loved him as much as they had loved Gabriel - which was apparent in them trading him away like livestock.

Despite this, he did hope that they were alright. He hoped that the ten thousand dollars kept a roof over their heads, food in their bellies, and kept them safe. He wondered if they would care about him if they knew what had happened? Would they come for him? Would they try and rescue him from this hell? Would they use the money Crowley had given them to fix their disfigured son? Before he would have answered yes to all of those questions without much thought prior, but now he was not so sure. Gabriel would have. Gabriel would have burned the entire place to the ground to save him, Gabriel would have _died_ for him without a second thought.

Gabriel had loved him.

His final savior could not save him however, and he was alone in this corrupt place. He only had one choice and that would be refuse to die. If he refused, if he fought, then perhaps he could outlive them. One day, he would have his revenge. Castiel shut his eyes and quietly whispered empty prayers to deaf ears for sleep, salvation, and solitude.

 

 

“Ladies and Gentleman, I give youa creature from a land above and distant from our own, so _mystical_ that you may not believe your very eyes, but I can _assure_ you that he is very much real -”

 

Castiel remained on the ground as the curtains were drawn away to reveal him, his white wings wrapped around his front, slowly opening. He could feel the pull and stretch in his muscles and flesh, but he kept his face stoic and unreadable as he glanced around at the small audience. He could hardly make them out, since the lights were all but blinding him completely. A feather came loose and floated away, the edges tinged red. Castiel watched it float away as he began to stand on shaking legs.

 

Abaddon - the Ring Leader - had told him to appear angelic, but he had no idea how to _appear angelic_ , especially when his back ached, tore, and bled. The man that stood behind him controlled the wings,  making them rise in what appeared to be a gentle manner. The audience gasped their shock. He wanted to scream at them, to _tell_ them that it was a sham, that nothing they saw was the real deal. He was not an angel fallen from Heaven or a mystical being from a distant land. He was a seventeen year old _boy_. Trapped and held against his will.

 

But he couldn’t scream to them so he kept silent.

 

The crowd was truly enthralled with him, they screamed, clapped, and whispered their excitement. A scream of pain buried in his chest kept clawing at him to be released. Sticky blood kept running down his back, and he wasn’t sure how the audience couldn’t _see_ that he was injured. He could hardly lift his arms at all. They still more or less hung loosely at his sides. His motions were extremely limited, which had been Alastair’s goal, but Eve had been furious when she saw him standing for the first time, practically falling over from the agony.

 

_“You hurt my child!” she snarled at Alastair. “You hurt my_ son _. My sweet, baby angel.” Eve slid her hands to cup his face gently, tilting his face up so they could look at each other in the eye. “So beautiful.”_

 

_Castiel stared back at her in his drugged haze. Alastair had injected him with enough pain medicine to make the entire world appear fuzzy and faint. He wanted nothing more than to shut his eyes._

 

_“He can hardly stand up,” Abaddon snapped. “How is he supposed to be on display?!”_

 

_“He will regain his strength,” Alastair replied calmly. “You must be patient.”_

 

_“He’s been out of commission for three weeks already. We are_ losing _money-”_

 

_Eve cast Abaddon a dark glare over her shoulder. “This is not about money, it is about caring for him. He can hardly keep himself up because the wings are heavy and he is exhausted. Can you all not see that he is_ tired _?!” She methodically began to pet his head._

 

_“He is tired because he has been injected with morphine. He has been injected with morphine to keep him out of pain as per your request. If you want him to stay awake, then he will be in pain. You cannot have it both ways.” Alastair tossed the rag he held in his hand aside. “The boy will heal in time. He cannot perform, because if he does, he will simply collapse. He is not strong enough to be your trained monkey yet, Abaddon.”_

 

_Castiel drew in a ragged breath, his legs finally giving out. The weight of the wings made him collapse to the ground, his breath whooshing right out of his lungs. Being shot with a bullet in his knee had hurt less than this. He stared up at the ceiling and allowed the world to fade away._

 

The memory made his shoulder blades burn, more blood trickling down to his lower back, sticking at the dip in his spine. Tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision. He needed to collapse. He was _going_ to collapse. The audience cheered, begging for more but the curtains were coming back down and as soon as they did, he slid back down to his knees, weak hands pressing hard into the ground. He bit his tongue hard enough to cause blood to flood his mouth in a rush as his wrists took the brunt of his fall.

 

The clapping drowned out his sobs.

 

 

PART TWO

 

Chapter Six

 

The sweat on the beer bottle felt cool against Dean’s warm palm as he took a long swig of the cold liquid. He drank so eagerly and messily that some of it ran down his chin and neck. When he took a pause to wipe his mouth and breathe, he smirked at the girls who were staring at him. He waved a hand to them, and they all giggled, and tittered away. Dean grinned and glanced at the car he was working on. His mother would kill him for working on such a hot day, right in front of the house, but he was twenty-two years old and the man of the house with his dad dead and gone for a few years now.

 

So he could work on a car in his front yard, drink a beer, and flirt with girls passing by the house all he wanted. Dean knelt so he could slide under the car, grunting and jerking when pain seared through his thigh. He dropped the beer bottle, listening to it shatter on the concrete, his hand going to grasp onto the car. “Son of a bitch,” he whispered, his breath practically stolen away.

 

The only reason he had avoided going overseas was the injury to his leg. He hated being partially crippled, so he tried to compensate in other areas. More than anything Dean had wanted to fight for his country, to make his father proud, but his mother, while not wishing her son to be in pain, thanked Jesus under her breath for sparing him from having to go overseas. So many men had died already that she had no desire to lose him, and Dean knew that she was right. It wasn’t as if he _wanted_ to die, but making his father’s memory proud had always been a goal he strived for in his everyday life. What other way to make the old man proud than to go and fight for his country?

 

He could already hear Sammy in his head, “And _die_ for your country.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes, still rubbing the soreness away. “Well you don’t gotta worry about me Sammy, I’m -”

 

“Are you talking to yourself again?” came Sam’s voice, making him jerk again, more pain running through his leg.

 

“Damn it, Sammy!” Dean took a deep breath, squeezing his thigh until his knuckles turned white. “Scared the hell out of me.”

 

“Sorry,” Sam said, not sounding at all apologetic. “Mom said to come inside, it’s time for lunch ... and _then_ we can leave!” His little brother’s face lit up in excitement, but Dean just rolled his eyes. “Oh c’mon Dean, it’ll be fun!”

 

“If you say so,” he muttered as she shakily used the car to stand up. “God -”

 

“Are you okay? Do you want t-” Sam went to say _the cane_ , which Dean hated using, but sometimes he needed it to get from Point A to Point B, but stopped himself.

 

“No, I got it,” he insisted, before starting to stumble towards the front door, Sam hot on his heels.  

 

“Are you sure -”

 

“I said I could do it, Sammy!” he snapped, rounding on his little brother in anger. He did not like being helped by anyone, not even Sam. Especially not with something he should very well be able to do on his own without trouble. He had learned to walk at a young age, now that he was barely in his twenties, walking should not have been a problem. Especially not the few feet between the car and the front door.

 

“You’re gonna need it when we go to the circus,” Sam pointed out.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean growled as he opened the front door. “Mind your business.”

 

Sam gave him a haughty glance, his eyes narrowing, and his chest puffing up, as he attempted to appear taller than he actually was. He hadn’t yet hit a growth spurt, so he still stood at chest level with Dean, which annoyed him more than he would like to admit. Most of the girls were either taller than him or barely shorter. He wanted to be tall like Dean, but his brother teased him all of the time, telling him how he would be short for the rest of his life because their Mom had dropped him as a baby, which his mother adamantly insisted was _not_ true. In fact, she had grounded Dean for a week after he had said such an accusation.

 

“Hey, Ma,” Dean greeted as he entered the kitchen and dining room, pulling up a chair. He always sat at the head of the table, even though Sam told him that was _Dad’s_ spot and not his. He always quipped back that he was the man of the house now, which was true; he earned the wages that kept them _in_ the house at the garage in town, and he had given up any hopes of going to college so Sammy could, and so his mother didn’t lose the house and end up on the street or working in a factory someplace. His mother did not deserve to work in a factory at forty-three.

 

“Hello, Sweetheart,” she greeted as always, bending to press a kiss to the top of his head as she laid a plate in front of him.

 

He blushed at her affection. “Aw, c’mon, Ma, I’m twenty-two now-”

 

“You will never be too old for me to kiss and hug you, Dean Winchester,” Mary replied firmly. “Don’t you ever forget it.”

 

“Yes, Ma,” he replied, eagerly picking up the grilled cheese and bologna sandwich she had made him. “Is there more?” he asked through a mouthful, which came out more like, “ _Ish deremure_?”

 

Mary rolled her eyes at her son’s behavior. “You and your father both, always talking with your mouth full. And yes, there is another sandwich on the stove for you to eat when you finish that one. Don’t wolf it down!”

 

“Hungry,” he replied as he took another huge bite.

 

She sighed, putting Sammy’s plate down in front of him next, which Sam could plow through food even faster than Dean could, being seventeen and still growing. At least Dean had stopped growing and learned how to not inhale his food _as_ fast as his teenage brother. It was a good thing that Sam had a part time job at the grocery store bagging groceries for old women, because between the two of them, they ate their mother out of house and home. They were both bottomless pits, but Dean tried to eat out at the diners as often as he could afford - he _loved_ diners and cheeseburgers. Especially when Rhonda Hurley was working. They had had a fling a few weeks ago, and he was hoping to meet up with her again soon.

 

Sam finished before him, which was not a surprise, and after he handed his mother his plate, he dashed away to wash up for the circus. Dean rolled his eyes and politely asked his mother for his other sandwich. “Thanks Ma,” he said when she brought him the other. “I appreciate it.”

 

She smiled, brushing some of his hair away from his forehead, before leaning down to kiss him again. “You two have a good time, but be home for supper, okay?”

 

He nodded. “Oh, we will, no worries, Ma. I’m supposed to be meetin’ up with Rhonda and the guys later tonight, so I’ll make sure we’re back for dinner.”

 

“Oh _are_ you?” Mary asked, her voice full of amusement. “And what are you, Rhonda, and the _guys_ going to do later?”

 

“Probably stop by the diner, maybe catch a flick.” Dean glanced up at her. “I really like Rhonda, Ma. She’s great.”

 

“Well, I’m glad. You have fun tonight, alright? You work so hard. I love you, Dean.” Mary bent to press one more kiss along his forehead before returning to cleaning up the dishes.

 

“You want me to do those, Ma?” he offered as he finished the last bite of his sandwich.

 

“No, you take Sam to the circus. I’ll be fine. Have a good afternoon, alright? I gave Sam some pocket change, so you don’t have to worry about spending your money on him.”

 

“Thanks, Ma.” Dean leaned over and returned her kiss, placing it on her cheek, before walking out to find Sam waiting by the car. He smirked and grabbed his coat, throwing it over his shoulder, swinging his keys around his finger. He drove his father’s Saratoga, she rode like a dream, and since his father had taught him how to take care of her, she hardly gave him any problems. “I take it you’re ready?”

 

“Yeah, let’s go!” Sam exclaimed, hopping into the car.

 

Dean rolled his eyes but he joined Sam, and soon they were rumbling down the road, off towards the fairgrounds where the circus was being held. He wasn’t sure what kind of show it was, the title had been something strange, but Sam had been begging to go for days, so Dean had broken down and told him they would go on the last day since that was the only day Dean had off from work. “We gotta be back by dinner, got it?”

 

Sam pouted. “But -”

 

“Sammy, Ma said we gotta be back by dinner, and _I_ have a date tonight, and I will not stand her up, got it?”

 

“With _Rhonda_?” Sam teased.

 

“Yeah, with Rhonda. I _like_ Rhonda, she’s nice, and her Daddy doesn’t want to shoot me between the eyes on sight, so I think that’s a good improvement from the last girl I met,” he replied as he turned into the fairgrounds’ entrance to park the car.

 

“You got money for the tickets, right?” Sam asked then, suddenly unsure.

 

“Yeah, I got it, relax. Jesus, it’s not like we drove far from the house, we could always turn around and go and get it. Alright?” Dean patted his pockets just to be sure, but he could feel the wad of cash he had stowed away for the occasion. “Let’s go.”

 

Sam climbed out of the car quickly, dashing up to the man at the entrance, looking as if he were bored and not making enough money to be doing this job. “Hi,” Sam greeted kindly.

 

Dean followed him, laying a hand on Sam’s shoulder to keep him from spouting off at the mouth. Sammy acted too eager sometimes, and not many people appreciated it. “Two please.”

 

The man gave Sam a skeptical look before handing two tickets over in exchange for the money Dean offered. Sam thanked the man, unable to help himself, and Dean nodded at him as he steered his little brother away. “You know, for a seventeen year old, you sure act like a six year old,” he commented, ruffling Sammy’s too long hair.

 

Sam looked up at him darkly. “Well, you’re no better.”

 

“Oh, I _know_ , but _you_ act all righteous about how _old_ you are now,” Dean pointed out, which was true. Sam loved to point out how he was now seventeen and a _man_. When he had first heard Sam declare his manhood he had almost fallen out of his chair from laughing so hard. His mother had not found it as funny, she had told Sam that he should not wish to grow up so quickly, and he was still just a boy. Sam had not been pleased.

 

“Well, I am!” Sam exclaimed.

 

“Sammy, if you gotta _say_ that you’re a man, then you’re not one yet, alright?” Dean returned his hand to Sam’s shoulder, pushing him along. The circus was dead at the moment, since it was the middle of the afternoon and the last day, but they were ushered into the big tent anyway, taking a seat in rickety chairs. “This better be entertaining or you owe me my money back, got it?”

 

Sam stuck his tongue out childishly before focusing his huge hazel eyes on the center ring, which stood empty at the moment. The show should be starting soon Dean realized as he checked his watch. He just hoped it was semi entertaining. His friends had been raving about it, how fantastical it was, and how it was not like anything they had ever seen before, but they had also not told him _what_ they had seen.

 

_“You just have to see it for yourself_ , _”_ they had insisted.

 

So here they were, ready to see this amazing circus. Dean didn’t really _want_ to be here but Sam had been begging and pleading, and after a while, listening to Sam beg and plead had become more annoying than entertaining, so he had given in.

 

A few stragglers wandered in but then the lights were dimmed to the point where it was fairly dark inside the tent, despite all of the sun that Dean knew was outside. He flinched when some lights lit up the stage, blinking as they blinded him temporarily. A redheaded woman in a striped bustier, thigh high black boots, and a black top hat appeared in the center ring, her smile mysteriously entertained, as if she had a secret that would make the small audience cry with awe.

“Ladies and gentleman, _thank_ you for coming to our final show! We hope that you enjoy the amazing sights before you as many others have! Know that you are not being deceived! We have brought together _fantastic_ beasts and people from many different lands! Feast your eyes and keep your children close. Sometimes, they do bite.” The woman winked and then the lights dimmed again.

A melody began to play throughout the room - lilting and melodious, but there was something off about it. Dean couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but the tune made him shiver and feel uncomfortable all over. The lights came back on to reveal a man dressed as a clown, a leash in hand, tugging and urging whatever was in the shadows forward. He felt Sam stiffen beside him, and despite how Dean made fun of Sam at times for being afraid of clowns, he reached over and held Sam’s hand in the dark anyway. Sam squeezed hard enough that Dean lost feeling in his wrist quickly, but he kept his eyes on the performance. The clown grinned, waved, and gave one more yank, until the monstrosity appeared; the sight made Dean’s stomach reel.

Whatever it was, he couldn’t tell if it had been once human or not, but it walked in a jarred, jagged way on all fours, despite not having arms or legs. Attached to stubs where limbs used to be were metal rods on springs, allowing the creature to walk on all fours, its back arched towards the ceiling. He had no lips and the skin on his face was badly knotted and scarred, if there were even skin at all, Dean couldn’t tell in the light. The teeth were sharpened and he had two canine fangs that came down past his chin. The crowd all gasped in horror, and Sam almost climbed into his lap when the clown came too close. Dean held onto Sam’s hand and was tempted to get up and leave - what kind of circus was this? What kind of _creature_ was that? It couldn’t have been born that way.

The clown paraded it around, at times smacking it on the head when it gnashed its teeth too close to his leg or hands. The audience laughed when he smacked it with what looked like a rolled up newspaper and it whined like a dog. Dean did not find it funny. He watched as they walked around, and the clown had the creature do some type of tricks, which it struggled to do, its limbs preventing it from doing much other than walking, but the audience around him were all fascinated. Dean felt sick to his stomach, his hands cold and clammy against Sam’s.

 

When he glanced down at his brother, he saw that despite Sam’s fear of the clown, he seemed just as enthralled as the rest of the audience. Dean shook his head and glanced up at the ceiling of the tent that disappeared into darkness. The music shifted as the clown and whatever the creature was supposed to be disappeared, and it left a sense of unease filling Dean’s stomach - he wanted to run away.

 

After the clown disappeared, a boy with hands shaped like claws, his skin red and puckered in places was brought out. He couldn’t have been older than Sam and he didn’t even do anything, he just stood there. People were throwing food at the boy, who flinched, cowering away from the crowd, looking as if he wanted to run. Dean felt his stomach twist, and soon the boy was being taken away.

Something moved in the shadows. Dean could make silhouettes of men moving what appeared to be a box or cage on wheels onto the stage. When the lights came on, Dean could see the curtain hid anything from view, and then the Ring Leader was returning to talk to the audience about this beauty that had fallen from Heaven, gracing all of them with his presence.

“You will find nothing else like him in the world!” she exclaimed before the curtain began to rise.

Dean shifted in his seat, leaning forward out of curiosity. White angelic wings hid someone from view, but slowly they began to open to reveal a handsome blue-eyed boy, close to Sam’s age from the looks of his face. Dean’s head began to tilt in wonder - _this_ seemed real, but how? The boy began to stand up, the wings moving with his motions, slowly raising and fully extending as he lifted his head to stand there on display. Dean felt his face heat up as he stared at the boy’s handsome features - he had sharp hip bones, a long torso, and hairless body, as if someone had shaved him all over. The only thing he wore was a white cloth that wrapped around his waist like a small skirt, barely hiding his body at all. The angel stared back at the audience, eyes bright and glassy, completely unemotional. The audience was so shocked that the only sounds were the music, there were no whispers, no mutterings, no gasps, everyone simply _stared_.

If Dean hadn’t been feeling wary from the beginning, he may not have noticed it, but once he had gotten over how lovely the boy was, he saw something off about him too. It was barely noticeable - someone who did not deal with pain in their legs daily like he did, would not have noticed, but Dean saw the slight trembling in the boy’s knees and thighs. Dean frowned, his head tilting and leaning forward to focus better. The boy was having a hard time staying upright, he realized in horror. He snapped his eyes back up to the kid’s face and saw that his eyebrows had slightly stitched together - to the untrained eye he would just look mysteriously beautiful, but Dean could see the hint of pain in the kid’s eyes. When the curtain began to drop, the audience erupted into applause, including Sam, but Dean did could not bring himself to clap. There was something wrong with this circus.

 

 

“Wasn’t that amazing?” Sam asked him as they left the tent. “Can we look around some more? I want to see the rest.”

Dean nodded slightly, still disturbed by the angel’s ‘show’ - he hadn’t done anything, just stood and allowed the crowd to ogle him. Sam led the way, rushing ahead to go towards other tents where the audience could see the freaks up close. Dean should have realized that this was not a circus, but a sideshow, and he cursed himself for allowing Sam to come. This was not a place that anyone below the age of eighteen should be seeing, but it was too late, and he had just unleashed Sam into the thick of it. Dean followed slowly, partially because his leg ached, and partially because he was not sure he wanted to know what was behind the tent flaps. The insides were mostly dark, with only lights illuminating what was on display - the creature with the fangs, locked away in a cage, a makeshift muzzle around his face to keep him biting audience members, a bearded woman, the clowns doing some sort of juggling act with knives, rather than juggling balls, and lastly the angel boy.

Dean came to stand before the angel where he rested on his knees in the dirt, his wings shifting and moving now and again. Blue eyes slowly began to look into his and Dean could _see_ the pain this time, clear and bright. How did no one else see this? Why didn’t anyone cry foul? There was no such thing as _fallen_ _angels_ \- it was a sham. He wanted to speak up, to ask the boy his name, to ask him if he were alright, but Dean held his tongue. If he spoke up, he could put himself and Sam at risk, and he would never put Sam at risk, but that did not stop him from lingering before the angel.

“Beautiful, isn’t he?”

Dean startled and turned to look at a brunette woman, coming to stand next to him, a fond smile on her face. “He is ... something, yes,” Dean admitted slowly.

“My sweet, beautiful angel,” the woman cooed. Dean yanked his eyes back to the angel in question, watching for his reaction. The boy had a mask of mysticism but Dean could see the way his body stiffened slightly in fear. “Do you like him?” she asked.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied politely. “Does he have a name?”

“Castiel,” she told him before holding out her hand. “My name is Eve.”

He accepted her hand to shake, touching his hat as he did. “It’s nice to meet you, Ma’am.”

“What is your name?” Eve asked.

“Dean. Dean Winchester, Ma’am.”

“Oh, please call me Eve. _Ma’am_ makes me sound old.” She smiled brightly at him. “And unless you think me old ...?”

“Of course not, Ma’am- Eve. Just a habit,” Dean replied with an embarrassed smile. “Mother always taught me to be polite around ladies.”

Eve smiled, laying her hand on his arm. “Well, your mother raised a handsome, polite, young man. She should be proud.”

A blush filled Dean’s cheeks, heating up quickly beneath the warm lights. “Thank you, I’ll be sure to tell her that when I get home later.”

“Are you enjoying the show?” Eve asked then, her tone changing slightly. It was almost as if she could see his curiosity and doubt of what he was seeing.

Dean quickly smiled and lied, “Oh yes, absolutely. It’s amazing! I’m glad I came. Is this your show?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Well, you did an amazing job, Eve.” Dean glanced over at the angel boy - _Castiel_ , he reminded himself - who shied away, one of his wings coming around to hide his face as he turned back towards the shadows. He flinched slightly before turning to find Sam in the small crowd - he was near the exit. “Forgive me, Eve, but I need to catch up with my brother. Have a good day -” he touched the brim of his hat and hurried off to catch up to Sam. The urge to leave hit him like a brick wall; they needed to get out of here before they became ensnared in this sideshow of monstrosities.

“There you are,” Sam said, crying out slightly when Dean grabbed his arm and steered him out of the tent. “Dean, where are we going?”

“Home,” he said firmly, continuing to march Sam away. “Come on.”

“Why? Why are we going home?” Sam asked, his feet tangling up, causing him to trip a few times as they walked.

“Because,” Dean replied quietly, “I don’t like that place, Sammy, it’s giving me the heebie jeebies.”

“What? Why?” Sam asked, completely incredulous, but they were already back at the car, and Dean was forcing him into the passenger seat. “Dean -”

“Sam, we’re going home, now shut your pie hole and thank me for taking you,” Dean snapped sliding into the driver’s seat.

Sam groused and grumbled a thank you before glaring out the window as they drove back towards the house. Dean was thrilled to put pavement between himself and the freak show. He never wanted to go back ever again, and he would be thrilled when they skipped town.

☾ † ☽

“What’d you think of it Dean?” Rhonda asked him as she drank her strawberry milkshake, eyes curious.

Dean shrugged, popping another french fry into his mouth. “I dunno,” he said after he chewed. “I wasn’t that impressed.”

“Of _course_ you weren’t,” Victor said with an exaggerated eye roll. “Can’t impress a Winchester without some crazy extravagant display.”

Rhonda shook her head and smiled. “The angel was the most amazing thing I have _ever_ seen,” she told him, sliding her hand to rest along his arm. “I don’t see how you weren’t impressed.”

“I just wasn’t,” he snapped shortly. “Can we talk about somethin’ else?”

Victor waved his hand in dismissal before turning his eyes back on his own date. Dean looked over at Rhonda and gave her a small smile. She stared back at him, sitting too close to him in the booth, but he didn’t mind. They were going back to her place after eating, and Dean couldn’t wait to have dessert. He slung an arm over the back of the seat casually, allowing her to press up against his side as they finished their meals in mostly silence, which was better than talking about the sideshow, so Dean did not complain. After he and Victor payed for their meals and the girls’, they went their separate ways, Dean taking Rhonda home, while Victor took his date home - he couldn’t remember her name.

“Turn the radio on,” Rhonda said to him as they drove in silence for a few minutes.

“Sorry,” he said with a shy smile, leaning forward to turn it on for her. “There you go.”

“Thank you.” She remained on her side of the car for a few more minutes, before finally sliding over and pressing her hand to his thigh, dipping her fingers brush along his inner thigh slowly. He took in a sharp breath, trying to concentrate on the road, as her fingers began to unzip his pants. “I missed you, Dean Winchester. You don’t come around enough.”

Dean glanced over at her and then down at her hand, which was soon holding his half hard cock. “S-sorry,” he whispered, his hands shaking slightly on the wheel. “R-Rhonda, baby, we’re gonna crash if you keep touchin’ me like this -”

She pressed a slow kiss to his neck, soft hands stroking him to completely erect. “Well, you better hurry to the house then.”

Dean grunted, reaching to loosen his collar, pressing his foot down to speed up. He just hoped they weren’t pulled over by cops along the way. He wasn’t sure he could explain why his dick was out of his pants, hard as a rock. She continued to stroke and tease him, barely stimulating him, only enough to keep him hard and on edge, his jaw clenched, and hands white knuckling the steering wheel until they finally pulled into her driveway. Once the car was parked, Dean turned in his seat to kiss her full on the mouth, making her moan against him. He wanted to slide his hands beneath her skirt,, but he rested them along her hips instead - he was a gentleman, after all.

He would get his hands under her skirt when they went inside.

“Dean,” she panted, her hands speeding up on his cock, stroking him with both hands.

“Fuck - I’m gonna -” He tried to focus on something else, _anything_ else to keep from popping off right then against her skirt.

“Let’s get inside,” she whispered, trying to shove him back in his pants, zipping him up, which made him grunt in annoyance. “Sorry.”

It was uncomfortable, but Dean managed to walk with her into the house. “Where’s your Pa?” he whispered.

“Shhh,” she hissed back, grabbing his hand and rushing him down to her bedroom.

“Jesus, Rhonda is he home?” Dean tried not to think on that, but it did make his dick soften a little. Mr. Hurley was a terrifying man with way too much political pool in town - with a few words, he could have Dean washed up and finished from working in the car business.

She pulled him into her room, quickly shutting the door, and pressing him up against it, kissing his lips slowly. “He’s asleep,” she giggled.

Dean stared at her in shock, but she was already getting his slacks open again, her hands going to stroke and tease him until he was so hard it hurt. “Rhonda,” he growled. “I should go -”

“If you keep quiet, he’ll have _no_ idea,” she replied. “He’s been drinkin’ lately and nothing could wake him unless you get too loud.”

Dean wanted to snap at her and tell her that he didn’t get that loud, but when she knelt down to wrap her mouth around him, he had to bite back a moan, almost eating his words. He _did_ get loud, but she was also good at making him come huge loads, so it wasn’t all his fault. Rhonda’s mouth was almost as good as her pussy, since she knew how to make it wet without being too wet, and her lips skimmed him tightly, tongue swirling along the head until he ended up whimpering. She loved teasing the head, despite how sensitive he could be. Head bumping back against the door, Dean slid his hands into her hair, tightening his grip when she took him in deeper, brushing the back of her throat.

 

“Jesus,” he whispered, forcibly shoving moans down so he wouldn’t wake her father. That was the _last_ thing he needed to do. He sighed, allowing his eyes to shut, simply listening to the wet and soft noises that were made as she sucked, his fingers loosening to barely rest in her hair, allowing for her to control what happened. Before he could finish, she was standing up, and pressing his cock between her thighs, her mouth latching onto his. He groaned.

 

“Touch me, Dean Winchester,” she whispered. She didn’t have to ask twice.

 

Immediately, Dean began to unbutton her dress, helping her out of it, before backing her up to the bed, easing her down on the mattress, before looking her over. Even through the knitted fabric of her underwear he could see how wet she was. “As you wish,” he replied, before hooking his fingers inside her panties to press one inside her warmth, and the other tracing and rubbing her clit. Working quickly, Dean tried to strip one handed, kicking his pants and underwear to the side, going to kneel above her, still working at opening her sex up for him.

 

“Dean - Dean -” she panted, sitting up to kiss him, unbuttoning his shirt. He had no choice but to pull his hands away so they could ease his shirt and undershirt off, hands going to her knees once he was naked. Rhonda laid back, staring up at him through hooded eyes. “You know what you would look good in?” she asked.

 

“Huh?” he muttered as he pulled her panties off, spreading her legs wide. She rolled her hips, her lips shining wet in the dim light of her room. “You are so -” He cut off, unsure of how to politely word his next thoughts.

 

“These,” she replied as if he hadn’t spoken at all, her finger looping into her undergarments, holding them up for him.

 

He froze, the mood immediately dropping. “Wait - _what_?” He stared at her lingerie, his cheeks turning bright red, suddenly glad she wouldn’t be able to tell in the dark. “Um ... I don’t know about that -” He attempted to put her focus back on them, but she was sitting up and holding them against his waist. “Rhonda ...”

 

“ _Really_ , Dean. You would. You should try them on ... for me?” She smiled, kissing his chest, her tongue running over one of his nipples, sucking and teasing him until he moaned.

 

“Okay, okay,” he hissed. “Just - stop - stop that or we’re gonna get caught - I’ll do it .... you better not tell the guys about this -” Dean slid back to his feet, grabbing the underwear and sliding them up his thighs, praying the fabric didn’t rip or tear, since she was much smaller than him. Once they were on, he could _feel_ his blush going down to the tip of his dick, which was now trapped in soft fabric - he had to admit, despite the tight fit, they felt ... nice. Better than his own, that was for sure. “Well?” he hissed, throwing his arms up, feeling embarrassed.

 

She smiled and pulled his hips close, kissing his navel. “You look perfect,” she told him.

 

“Yeah - well... I’m gonna take ‘em off now, alright?” He quickly slid the undergarments down, kicking them off to the side. He would never admit to _anyone_ that he had enjoyed that experience, not to her, not to Sam, not to God. Nobody.

 

“Hurry up, Dean,” she whispered, lying back, legs open invitingly.

 

He nodded, climbing up on top of her, reaching down to tease the head of his cock against her entrance, rubbing and rolling his head against her until they were both shuddering with need. Her eyes shut with a sigh as he began to push in, his cock aching to be inside. She gasped once he was fully seated, and while he wanted to start pounding into her right away, he rested, planting his knees firmly into the mattress, and his arms down on either side of her head. When she made the softest, neediest whimper, he gave in and began to thrust his hips against her, pushing her up the bed in his abandon. They kissed and nipped at each other, her fingernails digging into his biceps, shoulders, spine, and ass as he pounded her, listening to the sounds their bodies made - wet, dirty, and loud.

 

Too loud.

 

“Rhonda?! The hell you doin’ in there, girl?!”

 

Dean froze mid thrust, praying that they had locked the door. He slammed his hand over her mouth before she could moan, sigh, or whimper as he quickly pulled out. Once he was off the bed, they both tried to dress quickly and silently, Dean staring at the window and praying that her father didn’t see his car on the street.

 

“Sorry, Daddy - just -” She glanced around the room, trying to find an explanation. “Um ... I got bored, was moving some furniture around - you go back to bed!”

 

“Keep it down in there,” came her father’s response after some silence of him mulling her answer over.

 

“Yes, Daddy.”

 

“And get to bed!”

 

“Okay, Daddy.”

 

Dean held his breath, pants half way up his thighs, listening as her father’s footsteps faded down the hallway. He could have collapsed from relief when the bedroom door opened and closed.

 

“Shit, that was close,” he whispered.

 

Rhonda sighed, falling back onto her bed. “You should go,” she told him quietly, sounding disappointed.

 

“Yeah ... I’ll see you later?” he asked, pulling his shirt back on.

 

“Yes, of course.” She offered him the smile he called her kitten grin.

 

“Good.” Leaning down, Dean pressed a quick kiss to her lips, snatched up his shoes, and quietly began to sneak out of her bedroom, down the hallway, and back outside to his car. He would have to remember to _never_ try and have sex with his girlfriend while her father was home ever again, that had been much too close for his liking.

 

Once Dean reached his car, he haphazardly slid his shoes on, climbing in to start her up as quietly as he could manage - no sense in waking up the entire neighborhood. When he glanced to her door again, Dean smirked. She was worth every risk and every moment of them almost being caught. As Dean thought on it, he began to wonder if he should just get over himself and ask her to marry him. She’d probably say yes, and then they could have as much sex as they wanted, _whenever_ they wanted.

 

No one ever made qualms over a married couple having sex. He sighed and decided that he would buy her a ring as soon as he could save up the cash. Rhonda deserved a _nice_ ring, something that was just as classy as her. He just hoped that her father granted his permission and blessing. The car rumbled beneath him as he started to pull away. Not once did he think to look in his backseat or rear view mirror. Why would he? The neighborhood was safe after all.

 

 

The darkness was warm and moist, the air stale. It took Dean a moment, after becoming less disoriented, to realize a burlap bag had been placed over his head, which explained why he could feel his own breath coming back against his face. It also took him a moment to realize that he was lying down on a hard, rough surface, smelling of animal feces. The scent of pig or cow filled his nose - from the lump and bumps of the road he could feel jerking around, he concluded that he was in a livestock truck. As far as he could tell, there were no animals back here at the moment. The memories of the masked man in the backseat came flooding back as he lay there - someone had taken him.

 

He had been about to drive away from Rhonda’s house when a masked man appeared in his rearview mirror - he had barely glanced at all, not until it had been too late. Strong hands had wrapped around his throat, followed by a cloth pressing against his mouth. Darkness had taken him soon after. Now he was here - naked, a sack making it hard to breathe, and smelling of livestock. The truck began to roll to a stop, the brakes squealing, his body stiffening when the door opened and shut, listening for the footsteps to come around back. He remained still, hoping that if he didn’t move, he could find a way to escape. He tried not to think of Sam or his mother - they must have been worried sick about him.

 

The door to the trailer opened. Heavy footsteps walked up to him. Strong hands grabbed him by the arms and lifted him up. They were walking. Dean remained silent through the ordeal, simply dragging his feet to act as if he were still more or less unconscious. When his feet came into contact with the ground, Dean kicked his captor hard in the shin to break free, running blind. He would run until he was stopped, they would have to kill him to keep him from returning to his family.

 

Sam’s scream made him stop. “Dean!!”

 

He froze, almost tripping from the sudden stop. Sam? They had _Sam_? Dean turned around slowly, but the sack kept him from seeing anything, until someone walked up to him, their steps crunching on the gravel, and ripped the bag from his head. He blinked and coughed, staring into a redhead’s pissed off eyes. He looked beyond her and saw in horror that Sam was being held by another woman, a pistol to his temple. Dean felt his heart slam in his chest, his blood running cold. “Don’t - don’t hurt him, please -”

 

“Run away again, and I will have Eve shoot him, do you understand?” the redhead asked.

 

He nodded. “Yes, Ma’am,” he muttered.

 

“Good.”

 

“Oh, he’s polite, how lovely,” the woman named Eve commented. “I like polite ones.”

 

“Take the younger one to Alastair, I’ll bring this one inside,” the redhead replied, her cold eyes never leaving him.

 

Dean watched as Eve wrestled Sam away, stroking his hair as if he were her child ... or her dog. Sam fought, but eventually gave in after she whispered something in his ear. Dean’s heart continued to slam in his chest as Sammy disappeared from sight. He had no choice but to look at his captor then. “What do you want from me?” he asked. “Please - whatever it is - please let Sam go … _please_.”

 

The redhead smiled, but it was not a friendly gesture. “Eve liked him, too, I would have left him, I don’t need _two_ missing children on my hands, but you’re an adult, you can leave your home whenever you please. But what Eve wants, she gets.” She stepped closer until she was so close to him that they could have kissed. “I bet you’re wishing you hadn’t come after all, aren’t you, Dean?”

 

Dean blinked and then he realized - the redhead was the Ring Leader at the sideshow, and the brunette was _Eve_. The woman he had spoken to, the woman that had proclaimed that she owned the show. She had asked him if he had enjoyed it. “Son of a bitch,” he whispered. Nausea made his stomach reel - they were going to turn them into freaks, like the angel-boy. And that other _thing_.

 

The redhead’s smile widened, her hand curling around his bicep while her knee sharply made contact with his groin. He dropped to his knees like a heavy sack of bricks. She laughed. “Oh, you’re going to be _fun_ to break.”

 

Dean felt anger boil right beneath his skin. “Cunt,” he growled, spitting at her feet.

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she chided. “Or I’ll just have to tell Dr. Mauvais that your brother needs an _extra creative_ transformation. Yeah?”

 

He bit his tongue so hard it bled in his mouth to keep from saying anything more. Risking Sammy was not something he would ever do. In his silence, Dean tried to concoct a plan to break free, but first he needed Sam. Eve was returning, but Sam was not with her. He must have been with _Alastair_... probably the doctor the redhead had mentioned. _Probably_ the man who had made the boy - Castiel - an ‘angel’.

 

“What are you doing to Sam?” he growled.

 

Eve looked over at him. “Oh, he’s going to be quite lovely,” she said, much promise in her voice. “What are we doing with him?”

 

“I thought we could test him,” the redhead replied.

 

Eve smiled and Dean did not like the look on her face. “I like that idea. Come along, Dean, come along.”

 

He had no choice but to be yanked along. He would comply, especially if they kept threatening Sam. He wanted to ask where they were going and what she meant by ‘test him’, but he supposed he would find out soon enough. They led him back towards a trailer, pushing him inside and onto his knees. As soon as they freed him, he would fight tooth and nail to be free. He owed Sam a fighting chance. The redhead turned to face him and there was no friendliness to her smile when she said, “I know you. You want to fight, don’t you? If you fight, you won’t make it two steps out that door ... and if you do, your brother’s head will splatter all over the barn walls, am I understood?”

 

Dean felt his blood run cold. “Yeah,” he muttered.

 

“Good.” She slid her fingers through his hair, tugging and pulling his head back. “He is rather handsome, Eve.” Long fingernails trailed across his jaw as she made him stand up again. Deftly, they came to stand on either side of him, kissing along his neck and shoulders, exchanging kisses against their own mouths now and again. He watched in surprise as they removed the bonds on his wrists, but the redhead gave him a warning look, so Dean remained still, even though his body screamed to punch them both in the face before running.

 

“What do you want with me?” he whispered.

 

“I think he will look so lovely, Abaddon,” Eve said over his shoulder as the last of his garments were taken away.

 

Abaddon smiled, her long, cold fingers wrapping around his dick, slowly stroking until it was fully erect in her hand. “Oh, he’s a _healthy_ boy,” she replied.

 

He cursed himself when a moan escaped, his cock jerking for more. Together, Abaddon and Eve walked him back to a bedroom where he was shoved onto the bed, his wrists being bound tightly to bedposts. He stared up at them, his breathing coming in uneven as unwanted excitement filled his body. Abaddon laughed when Eve sucked on one of his nipples, causing him to whimper, his legs spreading automatically for more. They were going to force him to have sex and his body _liked_ it. He didn’t want to like it. Abaddon and Eve paused in their ministrations to kiss at one another, removing their own clothing, hands and fingers wandering to rub at each other’s sexes. The sight made Dean groan, his hips bucking with unwanted eagerness.

 

“Be patient boy,” Eve teased. She came to straddle over him on all fours, and Dean could just make out Abaddon bending to press her mouth to Eve’s sex. He tore his eyes back to Eve’s and saw her eyelids flutter in pleasure, and then Abaddon was stroking his cock quickly, rubbing at his head and slit. He whimpered and continued to buck his hips for more.

 

He wanted them to stop.

 

But at the same time, he wanted to never stop. Sex thrilled him, it always had, and adventurous sex made him feel even better, more alive. Even if sometimes he held fantasies in the back of his mind that would send him straight to Hell. His body shuddered when Abaddon ceased her petting, and Eve began to lower onto him, slowly and easily, her sex wet and throbbing. Dean bit his lip, trying to withhold moans and other noises, but when Abaddon began to lick and suck at his nipples again, while Eve rolled her hips, he couldn’t stop himself. The women exchanged kisses and caresses, all the while torturing him to orgasm - it didn’t take long. In fact, it was almost embarrassing how quickly he came inside Eve, who was quick to scold him for not lasting long enough.

 

“We’ll have to fix that,” Abaddon said cryptically as Eve went to clean herself up in the bathroom. Dean remained tied to the bed, panting and breathing heavily, his cock still half hard with excitement. She cupped his balls, rubbing them, despite his whimpers of pain. “You’re lucky you’re handsome.”

 

Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to know what that meant.

 

 

Castiel looked up when the door to the barn wrenched open and someone was being carried into the darkness. He could barely make out Alastair’s shape, and immediately he shifted to stay away from the door to his cage - he did not want to be brought to see Alastair again. He would have died before wanting such a fate. The body was placed in the cage next to his and Castiel feigned sleep until Alastair was gone, and Castiel slowly inched his way over to the bars, trying to view who was on the floor. He could just make out the face of a boy, younger than him he assumed, but not by much. They were possibly the same age. Castiel shuddered - why did they keep kidnapping kids?

 

“Hey,” he whispered. “Wake up. Hey -”

 

The kid began to sit up slowly, his eyes shining in the dark. The boy flinched and whimpered in pain, sitting up and spreading his legs slightly, as if there were something wrong with him. “Where am I - _ow_ -”

 

“Hell,” he replied. “You’re in Hell ... I’m Castiel. What’s your name?”

 

“Sam,” the boy answered. “I’m Sam ... My brother - they have him, too -” Sam looked over to him and then he gasped. “You’re - you’re that _angel_.”

 

Castiel flinched. The boy, Sam, must have seen the show, which must have been how Eve had picked him and his brother. “Yes,” he replied slowly. “But I am no angel ... I’m just a boy ... like you.”

 

“How did you - I don’t understand -” Sam laid back down, his body visibly trembling in the dark.

 

“I don’t either,” Castiel replied sadly. “Not really. I’m sorry this happened to you.” He was curious to know what Alastair had done to Sam, since he seemed fairly normal, but Alastair was disturbingly creative. “What did he do to you?”

 

“I don’t know,” Sam whispered. “It hurts ...”

 

“What hurts?” he asked, wishing he could be more of a comfort.

 

Sam did not reply, a whine escaping him instead. Afterward, there was only silence, and Castiel let Sam rest. Either he had fallen asleep or he did not want to talk about what had happened. His money was on the latter. Not that he could _blame_ Sam, since he did everything within his own power to not think on what had happened to him either. Whatever Alastair had done, Castiel could only guarantee that Sam was in pain, and probably should not have been out in a dirty barn where he could catch some type of infection, but here they were. For now at least. They were leaving in the morning, off on wagons and trailers to a new city, a new show, and to more money. Not for them of course.

 

Castiel had brought in much money since his debut, according to Eve. She praised him like he was her child, calling herself his _mother_. As far as he was concerned, he would never consider her a mother, let alone his, but he kept silent on that front. In fact, he hardly spoke at all, staying silent most of the time. No one seemed to mind, since he was supposed to be portraying a mythical being that could not possibly exist elsewhere, and only they knew that it didn’t. He was a sham, a fabricated being to be ogled. Castiel sighed and curled up, hoping that someone would bring them food soon. They hadn’t eaten all day, and while he was used to being hungry, Eve had insisted they be fed more - she would not have her children _starving_.

 

The noise of the door opening was not food, but someone else being brought into the barn - probably Sam’s brother. It took both Abaddon and Alastair to wrestle the man into a cage, shoving him on the opposite wall to where Castiel and Sam were housed. As far as Castiel could tell, this man was normal, his transformation having not begun just yet. Or if it had, it would be slower and more painful than his own. Once the door was slammed and locked, the man yelled and screamed, rattling the bars until Abaddon shot off a gun. The loud, reverberating sound had made Castiel piss himself, Sam whimpered, and the distant shrieks from Andy’s cage, which was kept in a separate wagon entirely, could be heard.

 

“ _What_ did I tell you?!” Abaddon screamed at the man. “Hm?!”

 

“Fuck you,” the man snarled, spitting in her face. If Castiel had felt less afraid, he would have cheered. When Abaddon pointed the gun at Sam’s cage, the man withdrew and went to sit on the floor, looking unhappy but no longer causing a scene.

 

“Good boy,” Abaddon replied calmly, wiping her face off. “Keep it up and I’ll make sure Dr. Mauvais makes you _very_ uncomfortable during your surgery, understood?”

 

So they hadn’t started this man’s transformation yet after all. Castiel wanted to tell him to find a way out, to do all he could before they had to leave in the morning, but he kept his mouth shut, as usual. Abaddon glared around the room, and then they were left alone, the door slamming shut with a shudder. He turned his eyes on the new man, and wished he could see him in the light. He sounded handsome, and who knew what he would look like later.

 

“Sammy?” he hissed.

 

“Dean ... I’m sorry,” Sam whimpered. “I’m sorry I made us go -”

 

“Shhh ... it’s not your fault Sammy,” Dean whispered gently. “Okay? It’s not. Don’t beat yourself up, we’re gonna get out of here. I promise.”

 

“Okay,” Sam whispered.

 

Castiel settled down. The unspoken words hung in the air around them, making it hard to breathe. They would get out of there, but they wouldn’t be leaving alive.

  


Chapter Seven

 

Dean grunted when a rut in the road jerked him around, his eyes heavy with the need to sleep. His fingers and nails still hurt from where he had done everything he could to pry the latch and lock free of the cage that held him. The only thing he had ended up with had been sore, bleeding fingers, and more annoyance than he had started with. A leak in the roof of the wagon kept dripping on his nose, which was annoying, but every now and again he would attempt to collect some water to drink. It was better than nothing, which was what they usually received, as far as he could tell. They had been on the road for what felt like weeks, but perhaps it had only been days, maybe hours, he wasn’t sure anymore.

 

They were jerking to a stop and Dean began to sit up, ready to glare and spit at whoever approached him. They had yet to shoot Sam, so Dean figured they needed him just as much as they needed Dean. So he had kept on being as insolent as he could without pushing Abaddon or Eve too far. Actually being the reason Sam ended up dead was not the goal, but if he annoyed them enough, perhaps they would let their guard down enough so he could get the upperhand. The door opened and Abaddon walked up to his cage, and Dean practically snarled at her. He was going to enjoy cutting her apart.

 

“Oh, how appropriate,” she commented. “Already prepping for your surgery. Good.”

 

He frowned at that. What the fuck did _that_ mean? “What?” he snapped.

 

She smiled at him. “Oh, you’ll see. It’s perfect for you.”

 

Dean did not see Alastair walk up to the cage so he was not able to stop the needle from sinking into the back of his neck. He screamed and tried to pull away, but it was too late, and darkness pulled him under.

 

 

“Try not to … _botch_ this one, hm, Doctor?” Abaddon said coldly.

 

Alastair gave her a dark look, but together they carried Dean from the trailer and off towards the house. A few more surgeries and they would be in business one hundred percent. She and Eve were going scouting later for more people to take, and then they would be able to travel easily, without the need to return to Alastair’s lab for surgical needs. They would bring what they could of his on the road, but the rest would remain at the house. She helped him rest Dean on top of a table and then wiped her hands on her pants, before turning to leave.

 

“I will let you know -”

 

“When you finish, yeah I know,” Abaddon replied before walking back up the cellar steps. She hated being here, but they had no choice; the doctor couldn’t perform surgeries on the road, and they traveled too much to have a permanent address. At the moment, they were staying on Meg’s farm while Alastair did his work. Once they were all done, they could leave. She had suggested Florida - it was warm and tourists flocked the state like flies to honey. They were sure to make plenty of money … as long as Alastair did not ruin this one too.

 

Sam, the younger boy, had not gone over well. It was convincing enough, but the surgery had been crude and not well performed. The man could make a boy an angel, but ask him to make a hermaphrodite? Clearly, that had been too big of a task for the good doctor. Hopefully, Dean would not be such a failure. As long as no one paid too much close attention to Sam, then they could get away with the terrible surgical solution, so there was still _some_ hope left. She sighed and slid into the truck to wait for Alastair’s signal. She would just shut her eyes for a few minutes … just long enough to rest.

 

It wasn’t until someone pounded on the glass window to her truck that she woke again, snapping her eyes open. It was raining, and Alastair stood outside beneath an umbrella, looking annoyed. She returned his look and threw the truck door open, stepping into the muck and mud without a bat of an eyelash. She did not need to have a carpet rolled out for her feet wherever she went, unlike some women. Abaddon welcomed the muck, grime, and dirt - she had always been fine with getting her hands (and feet) dirty.

 

“Well, Doctor?” she asked. “Where is he?”

 

“You will like this one,” Alastair promised as he led her back to the cellar.

 

Abaddon allowed Alastair to go in front of her, and she descended slowly, her hand tracing the wall lightly to keep steady. Sliding past the plastic draping around the operating table, Abaddon gasped. The angel had been somewhat impressive, Andy had been more gruesome than shocking, and Sam was less than desirable … but _this_ \- this left her truly breathless.

 

“You are … impressed?” Alastair asked, amusement tinging his tone.

 

She gave him a nod, a smile filling her face. “You know what Doctor, I am,” she replied. “I truly am. Eve will be very pleased.”

 

Alastair returned her cold, twisted, smile.

 

 

There were awful screams coming from the extra trailer, the new one that had just been bought. Its walls were made of new steel, and from the dents already appearing on either side, it was a good thing. Castiel stared at the trailer from where he was being loaded into his own, crammed in with Sam and a few others. It had been almost a week since they had last moved, but now they were supposedly traveling to Florida. He had not seen Dean since they had taken him away one morning, but Castiel had a feeling he knew where Dean was.

 

The trailer shook with loud bangs and muffled screams. Whatever was inside screamed itself hoarse before Abaddon walked over and banged a few times on the wall to keep quiet. Castiel withdrew his eyes and turned to look at Sam instead - the poor boy sat in a pile of bloodied straw, looking weak and tired. Alastair kept coming into check on his healing scars, but little movements made Sam’s stitches break open and bleed. Castiel was just waiting for the poor boy to catch some type of infectious disease that would kill him. Not that he wanted Sam to die, but he figured Sam would be happier and better off dead than living like an animal.

 

The word _hermaphrodite_ had spread through their small sideshow like wildfire, and Castiel had figured that was why Sam had not wanted to discuss what had happened to him. He was ashamed by what had been done. Castiel didn’t blame him. The trailer door was slammed shut after Alastair came in to bandage Sam up one more time, snarling and snapping at him to stay still or he’d send Andy to bite his little cock off. After Alastair left, there was only silence, and Castiel glanced over then at one of the new people that had been brought. She was lying in a huddle in her own cage - Alastair had sewn her legs together. She was to be a mermaid, like in the Anderson fairy tale.

 

He had always liked that story, even if the little mermaid had ended up throwing herself into the sea from despair. There was something mystical about the sea, he had always loved the ocean, loving his visits while living in Maine. But they were far from the sea now, and he had a feeling that the girl - Anna, he thought - would not live long.

 

Every bump and jar in the road made him flinch, his shoulders and arms ached so badly he wanted to cry, but he held back the tears. Sam and Anna had to be in more pain than him; he had had some time to heal - over a year now, he realized.

 

Over a year and he had been stuck in this hell, watching people come and go constantly. He had seen people die, scream, and suffer through worse tortures than he could even mentally fathom. All for the sake of money and show business.

 

“Anna?” he whispered. “Are you awake?” She didn’t respond, and he began to worry that perhaps she was already dead, but he could see her breathing slightly. He sighed, finally settling down to wait for them to stop. Every now and again, Sam whimpered.

 

☾ † ☽

 

The sky darkened faster than anticipated. They were going to have to stop and rest soon, even though they were not far from the town they were headed to. They ended up pulling into a fair ground, where many Romani stayed. It was easier to blend in with the gypsies than the regular public.

 

Eve slid out of the truck when Abaddon parked, making her way back towards the trailer that housed Dean. When she had first laid eyes on him, she had been blown away. He was truly remarkable, a piece of art that they were going to display to the world. Warm rain drops began to fall to the ground, soaking her dress through quickly, but Eve ignored it, instead going to unlock the trailer door, allowing it to open. She could hear Dean growling low in his throat when she appeared in the light.

 

His green eyes, bright with intelligence, stared back at her, his lips curling back in a snarl. Dr. Mauvais had made her boy, her new favorite boy, so perfectly beautiful - his teeth had been pulled and replaced with real tiger’s teeth, inserted perfectly; the front fangs had been filed down and resharpened so he could close his mouth properly; on his head were a set of horns, surgically implanted into his scalp;  his hands now harbored long nails, sharpened to lethal points; and a heavy metal collar wrapped around Dean’s neck, keeping him chained to the floor. Eve smiled at him, wishing she could slide her hand into pet him, but she knew he would bite her as soon as he had the chance.

 

“You look beautiful, you know that?” she asked with a warm, kind smile. “The crowds will love you.” Dean remained crouched on the ground, glaring up at her, drool running down his chin as he was still adjusting to his new teeth. Her smile widened, “You are my new favorite child. I will love you the most, and you will be taken care of with the best care. I promise.”

 

Dean hissed and launched himself at the cage, the chains straining as he tried to get to her, screaming and shaking the bars. She fell back a step, surprised at his sudden burst of rage. Alastair had pumped him full of some type of serum to keep him on edge, but perhaps he was _too_ on edge. Her monster boy, her favorite new baby, would be the cause of their show to shut down if he hurt someone. Telling Dean to behave, Eve walked out of the trailer to find Dr. Mauvais. It didn’t take long, he was usually easy to find, usually pouring over his notes, books, and studies wherever they stopped. White tents had been erected quickly, and Eve immediately sank down across from the doctor, hands patiently in her lap, waiting for him to look up.

 

His calculating gaze slowly raised from his journal, a small smile twitching his lips; unlike Abaddon, Dr. Mauvais liked her. “Yes?”

 

“I believe that Dean is too wound up. He is vicious, angry, and he is going to end up hurting someone if his dosage is continued.” She spoke firmly and articulately, holding her head high. Most men did not take her seriously, with her slim body, and small frame, but she would not be talked down to, and she would not let a man tell her what she did and did not want. Not anymore. Not when her children were her main driving cause of living, and their safety was what mattered most.

 

“You wanted him to be fierce. I am doing what I can,” Alastair replied slowly.

 

“And you have done an _excellent_ job, Doctor … but I believe that Dean is too far gone to be entertaining. The audiences will be afraid of him … our workers, too. I want him to be vicious, as any monster should, but if he attempts to attack us on every turn, then what do we have? A monster who is not trained,” she said.

 

“I understand,” Alastair said. He set his pen aside, rising his head to match her own. “However, my dear, the audience will revere him, as well as fear him. They will want _more_ , and seeing something so _untame_ , and so _wild_ , will draw them in like flies to honey. We can claim we brought him from overseas. It will make for a wonderful show … as for him attacking us, well he will learn. It is as simple as that.”

 

Eve frowned, tilting her head to one side. “And how exactly will he learn, Doctor?”

 

Alastair smiled. “I will show you.”

 

 

The world was fuzzy in waves; at times everything would be clear as day, but then other times he could barely see his own hand in front of his face. For now, the world was clear and he could see Alastair and Eve returning to his large trailer. sounding out a warning snarl. When the doctor came to close, Dean growled and snapped at the bars, throwing himself against the cage to rattle it and send the doctor backward … or that was what was supposed to happen. Instead, there was a sharp, searing pain jabbing into his ribs. He screeched and fell back a few steps, his hands going to cup at the blood that was now gushing down his side.

 

Alastair held up a sharp rod, allowing it to glint in the weak light. “Hello, Beasty,” he said with a grin. “You keep this up and I’m going to keep _this_ up, do you understand?”

 

Dean glared at him, going back a few steps, even if he could still feel the anger pulsating through his limbs. “Go away,” he growled, his voice rumbling dangerously in the hollow trailer.

 

“Oh good, he can still speak,” Eve said with a smile.

 

“Not well,” Alastair replied. “Not until he grows used to the new teeth in his mouth.”

 

As far as Dean could tell he sounded somewhat normal but then again, he hadn’t spoken up in what felt like years. Except screaming. “Go away,” he repeated, louder this time, his voice sounding deeper to his ears, as if he had aged ten years.

 

Alastair glanced at Eve and stepped close to the cage again. “Your mother wants you to behave … and take a walk, since you’ve been locked in this cage all day. I don’t think it’s a very good idea. Not since we’ve been pumping you with a _special_ serum every day.”

 

“ _Go away_!” Dean screamed, shaking the cage again, launching and snapping his jaws at the doctor. Alastair laughed and rammed the rod into his flesh again. Dean shrieked and reached to yank the rod out of the man’s hand. It wasn’t until Alastair poked him near his face, scraping alongside his cheek, that he withdrew, going to the far end of the cage. He watched Alastair turn to Eve, a smirk on his face, as if he knew something she did not.

 

“I told you, Eve,” the doctor turned to look at him again, “he cannot be tamed, but he will learn.” Alastair slammed the rod against the cage, making him flinch at the loud noise. “See? He’s already learning.”

 

“I don’t want him harmed,” Eve said firmly as they began to walk away. “If he’s hurt, and I come to find out that he’s hurt, I will cut off your fingers, one by one. Do you understand?”

 

There was no response that Dean could hear. He watched them leave, the door to his trailer shutting and returning him to darkness. When they left, he crumpled to the ground, curling up in a ball, with tears running down his face. His body ached so badly and all he wanted to do was die, but he had to keep going. For Sammy. For his mother. For the off chance that he would survive this and be restored to something similar to normal. Not that Rhonda would ever take him back now - not that he would want her to.

 

If he had been kinder, he could have asked after Sam, but his captors did not deserve his kindness. He would fight with tooth and nail until they killed him.

 

Dean felt his eyes grow heavy, his breathing slowed as sleep wrapped its tendrils around his body, weakly protecting him from his new reality.

 

☾ † ☽

 

Castiel looked up from where he was being prepped for the show at the noise coming from the cage across the tent; it was covered in a black cloth that trembled and shook with whatever was inside, rattling the bars. The workers, including an older, partially deaf man named Bobby Singer, avoided the cage at all costs. His own curiosity was going to be the death of him one day, but Castiel longed to walk over and pull the cloth down, to see what was inside. He had a feeling he _knew_ \- Dean Winchester had gone _somewhere_ , but no one had seen him since that evening he had been taken.

 

Castiel was sure Dean wasn’t dead. He had been too tough for death.

 

There was some silence, and Castiel turned his eyes back onto the worker who walked around him, making sure the wings were clean and working properly. The pull against his skin and muscles still hurt, and he had a feeling he would be in pain for the rest of his life, however long that would be.

 

“Do you know what’s in there?” he asked quietly.

 

“Nothing good,” was the simple reply. “I haven’t seen it myself, but it won’t be good. Been screamin’ its head off for days.”

 

Castiel nodded, turning his eyes back onto the cage. “I want to see it,” he whispered. “Please.”

 

“You know I can’t -”

 

“Please? I won’t ask for anything else,” Castiel whispered quickly. “Ever.”

 

“Fine. But, be quick. And careful.”

 

He nodded, waiting for the wings to be secured, before walking over to the cloth, tossing it back to rest along the top of the cage. What he saw inside used to be Dean Winchester, but the creature staring back at him did not resemble the handsome man that had been brought in. He was still handsome, in a strange, and exotic way, but he was also terrifying when he opened his mouth to snarl. Castiel slowly knelt to the ground, so he and Dean could be eye level, since Dean laid on the ground.

 

 

 

“Hello,” he whispered.

 

Dean’s snarl cut off and he seemed to have some recognition flash through his eyes. “Angel,” he whispered.

 

Castiel nodded. “Hello, Dean.”

 

Dean slid closer to him, the chains rattling as he shifted. “Where … Sam?” he muttered, forming his words slowly and carefully.

 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Probably being prepared for the show. Are you okay?”

 

Dean’s face relaxed, as shoulders un-tensing, and he looked to the ceiling, as if thanking God for his brother’s safety. After a moment, he shrugged slightly. “I’spose,” he muttered. “You?”

 

He gave Dean a small smile, nodding. “Yes,” he replied quietly. “I’m … doing as best I can, I suppose. I’m so sorry, Dean.”

 

Dean slid his fingers to wrap around the bars of his cage before reaching out to touch Castiel’s cheek, his long fingernails slowly tracing against his skin, making goosebumps spread. “Not your fault,” Dean muttered, his voice rumbling. “You didn’t … do this.”

 

“If you hadn’t come to see me, you wouldn’t be here,” he said. “It’s my fault.”

 

“No,” Dean growled, pulling his hand away. “No. It’s mine.” He turned his face and returned to the shadows. “You should go, Angel.”

 

Castiel stared after Dean sadly. “One day,” he whispered, “we’ll be free ...”

 

Dean did not offer any reply, so Castiel carefully pulled the black curtain down over the cage, and returned to await his turn to show. The music started and he sighed. Anna was up first, it was her debut. Castiel could practically feel his nerves clenching as he waited, feeling as if they were all on the edge of a knife. Abaddon’s voice soon followed.

 

 

“From the mysterious oceans we bring you a creature so amazing that you will not believe your eyes!” Abaddon told the small crowd that had gathered. The tank had been wheeled out by workers, draped in a heavy red cloth. Inside, was the girl fashioned to be a mermaid. The tail she wore had been made from a real whale, according to Alastair, even though Abaddon had not believed him. Where the man had found a _real_ tail she had no idea, and the man was such a _fraud_ in her eyes.

 

An artistic fraud, but still a fraud.

 

A hush fell over the crowd and Abaddon stepped forward to pull the cloth down. The girl in the tank, pressed her hands to the glass, trying to wriggle and move. Abaddon smiled when a gasp slid through the audience, and they all began to whisper and mutter in surprise. A man cried foul, and Abaddon turned to look at them all, her smile wavering. They could not be chased from this town already, not when they had just arrived. “I assure you, Sir, she is very real.”

 

But now that the stranger had cried his doubts, the entire audience began to feel the same. Abaddon watched as they all muttered, turning to one another, and while Alastair had told her strictly to keep Anna’s show short, she forgot about the girl, drowning in the tank next to her. Someone booed, and then another, and soon they were throwing food at the stage. Panic seized her, and Abaddon turned to look at the tank, ready to yank the curtain back down - it was then she saw the girl was hitting the glass, attempting to find air at the top.  The heavy black velvet covered her up and Abaddon had the lights lowered so they could move the tank from the stage.

 

The music grew louder and Abaddon followed the workers who carted Anna away, hot on their heels. They had to unlatch the tank now, or the girl would drown.

 

“Open it!” Abaddon screamed at the old man, Bobby Singer, as he appeared, keys in hand.

 

The old man shuffled forward and fumbled with the keys and lock before finally popping it free, allowing the top to open. Two workers hauled the girl from the water, almost dropping her as she slid, slippery in their arms. The tail she had been fashioned to wear slid free of her legs, which were purple, green, and smelled of rot. Abaddon stared down at her, and it did not take a medical expert to see that the girl was dead, paler than the white on her striped bustier.

 

Bobby glanced up at her and shook his head. “She’s dead,” he said gravely.

 

Abaddon cursed. Eve was going to kill her.

 

 

Castiel stared at Dean’s trailer as he was being loaded into his own cage - they had cut the show short when the crowd had rioted. They were fleeing like thieves in the night, and Castiel wondered if he could convince Bobby to let him ride with Dean. Just this one time. He was almost in his cage when he stopped walking, forcibly making Bobby give him a look, trying to tug him along. Still, Castiel kept his feet planted to the ground.

 

“C’mon,” Bobby muttered. “Let’s go.”

 

“I wish to ride with Dean. There is room for two in there. This place is cramped. I need more room.” This was all true - he lived in a cage much too small for his stature. He needed breathing room, and Dean’s trailer had that room. “Please,” he added as an afterthought.

 

Bobby frowned and shook his head, “You know I cain’t let you ride with him -”

 

“Bobby, please?” he whispered. “I won’t ask again … just this once.”

 

He sighed but they were starting to walk over to the truck that held Dean in the back. “You say I did this, and I’ll deny it,” Bobby muttered, even as he unlatched the door and walked Castiel inside, using his flashlight to illuminate the way. Bobby peered in at Dean and slowly unlocked the cage door to allow Castiel inside. “You die, it ain’t my fault.”

 

“He won’t hurt me,” Castiel assured him, even if he was starting to doubt that when he saw Dean bare his teeth at them. Once the cage door was shut and locked, Bobby left them, and they returned to darkness. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust, but eventually Castiel could make Dean out, where he remained on his side of the cage, crouched and looking on edge. “Hello, Dean.”

 

Dean frowned, shifting so he could come closer. “What are you doing here?” he hissed.

 

“I wanted to see you,” Castiel said. “I … felt bad that you were all alone, all of the time.”

 

“What about Sam?” Dean demanded. “You were with Sammy -”

 

“Sam is fine. He was asleep when I left. He’ll be fine.” Castiel found it admirable that Dean cared so much for his brother, but in the same breath he found it sad that Dean could not be bothered to care half as much for himself. “How are you?”

 

Dean shrugged, leaning back against the cage wall. It was only then Castiel noted that Dean was completely naked, his body half stirred, as if he had been aroused in some way.

 

“I dunno,” Dean whispered. “They keep … giving me these … drugs - something. Makes me angry, and -” Dean glanced down at himself, pulling his knees up to hide his arousal.

 

He was suddenly glad for the darkness, Dean wouldn’t be able to see him blushing in the dark. “You don’t feel angry now?”

 

“No, I do,” Dean said. “But I don’t wanna hurt you, Angel. If that doctor or redheaded _bitch_ shows up though … _them_ , I’d be glad to take a chunk outta. Whatever it is, the stuff they put in me … I get so _mad_ , but- but I wanna fuck everything that fuckin’ moves, and I wanna rip and tear my way through everything too.”

 

Castiel slid closer to Dean, daring to invade his space. He didn’t believe Dean would hurt him, especially when he knew that they were almost friends. If nothing else, they were war prisoners together - comrades via tragic happenings. Dean pressed back into the cage wall, even as Castiel drew closer, until they could look each other in the eye and Castiel could smell Dean’s scent - it wasn’t awful. His cage did not smell like human waste, like his truck did, but he smelled of sweat and something else. He couldn’t place it.

 

“Angel -” Dean whispered.

 

“You’re the only one I’d let call me that.”

 

“I don’t remember your real name,” Dean muttered in embarrassment.

 

“Castiel.”

 

“Cash -” Dean cut off, his mouth making his words slur.

 

Castiel giggled. “Cas. You can just call me Cas.”

 

“Casss,” Dean drug out the _ss_ sound, his face clearly ashamed that he was having a hard time forming the name. “I like Angel better.”

 

“I’m not really an angel.”

 

Dean took a deep breath and then he leaned over and pressed their lips together. It was quick and chaste, as if Dean didn’t know how to kiss him, but then he pulled away and sat back in the corner, refusing to meet his gaze. “Angel t’me,” Dean muttered.

 

Castiel brought his fingertips to his lips, surprised that Dean had kissed him. It wasn’t unpleasant, just surprising. Dean seemed like such a woman’s man, but maybe Dean was still having effects from the drugs he had been given.

 

“Um -”

 

“Sorry,” Dean muttered.

 

“No - no it’s … I thought you were- into girl.”

 

Dean glanced up at him then, looking ashamed. “I am … sorta. I like- I like you. You’re real handsome, Angel. But I’m not - not anymore.”

 

“I think you’re still handsome,” he replied slowly. “I mean, the horns give me something to grab onto.” Castiel gasped and pressed his hands to his mouth, shocked at his admission.

 

Dean laughed, a real laugh, hearty and belly shaking. Castiel liked Dean’s laugh and it died off too quickly for his taste, but if they continued to be loud, they would be caught.

 

“Well, good to know,” Dean said after some silence.

 

“May I kiss you again?” Castiel asked. In the dark he barely made out Dean nodding, but as soon as he registered the gesture, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Dean’s mouth, fumbling with inexperience. Dean was gently cupping his jaw and helping him right himself, so they could kiss proper. Dean refused to open his mouth, even though Castiel pressed his tongue against Dean’s lower lip a few times - which he had heard was the proper way to kiss someone in school, but he saw no sense in it.

 

“I’d bite you,” Dean told him. “On accident … I don’t wanna hurt you.”

 

He had forgotten about Dean’s teeth. “It’s okay,” he whispered. Somehow he had ended up on his knees between Dean’s thighs, and he could feel Dean’s cock, now completely erect, pressing against his hip. He couldn’t help but glance down to look, trying to make out Dean’s form in the dark.

 

Dean did his best to shift away, trying to shut his legs so he wasn’t simply pressing up against Castiel crudely. Something possessed him to stop Dean, pressing his hands, which were still slightly weak, along Dean’s strong thighs, keeping his legs open. Dean took in a sharp breath and Castiel licked his lips, tempted to _relieve_ Dean of his suffering.

 

“I won’t be able to be quiet,” Dean growled.

 

Castiel tentatively wrapped a hand around Dean, stroking his full length in his palm. “So?” he whispered. “They’ll just assume you’re all alone anyway.”

 

Dean laughed slightly, his head tilting back. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Right.”

 

Dean felt hot in his hands, and soon he was slick and wet with precome as Castiel pumped his wrist quickly, his own body stirring. He had never done something like this before, but what else did he have to lose at this point? There was no one to see him holding a cock while giving a man pleasure - besides, he’d already used his mouth on a stranger, this was no different. Except, this time, he wanted to. He _wanted_ to bring Dean to completion. He shut his eyes and listened to Dean’s heavy breathing, and the slick sound his hand made. He sped up, just to make the sound intensify.

 

Dean groaned, banging his fist back against the cage, making the entire truck rumble with vibration. When Castiel felt Dean’s thighs tense, he knew that it was almost over, so he opened his eyes to look at Dean’s face - a mask of pleasure and shock, his jaw hanging open loosely, and one of his hands touching his chest, rubbing against his nipples. Castiel whimpered at Dean pleasuring himself.

 

“Here,” Dean hissed, grabbing Castiel’s other hand to cup around his sac. “R - rub me here -”

 

Castiel blushed, rubbing and teasing Dean until the man made a small noise - almost a whimper, but not quite. Sticky come splashed against his hand afterward, coating him in thick bursts. He gasped, squeezing Dean’s balls, while still pumping his wrist, until Dean’s hands pushed him away. They were both panting in the dark, Castiel aching for release as well, but he kept his hands to himself, daring to even lick the come from his fingers. It wasn’t awful.

 

“Don’t gotta do that,” Dean mumbled sleepily.

 

He shrugged, licking his palm clean. “It’s not bad,” he whispered.

 

A lazy smile slid across Dean’s face, even if his teeth made it more unnerving than anything else. “When we get outta here, I’m gonna take you with me, Angel.”

 

Castiel nodded eagerly. “One day,” he promised.

 

Dean’s slid shut. “One day.”

 

 

Eve paced across the floor of the trailer that she and Abaddon lived out of, waiting for her lover - soon to be _ex_ -lover if she continued to jeopardize the health of her children - to return from having Anna disposed of. They were going to be leaving soon, off to a new town, since this show had been such a disaster. When the door opened and Abaddon walked over the threshold, her hands and clothing dirty, Eve glowered.

 

“You killed my child,” she hissed.

 

“It was an accident, Eve,” Abaddon replied, sounding tired and fed up. “I may as well tell you now, since you’ll only find out by morning.”

 

“Tell me what?” Eve asked.

 

“Andy is also dead, succumbed to his wounds, according to Alastair.”

 

“So, now what do we have?” Eve snapped. “A botched hermaphrodite, an angel, and an exotic monster boy?! We can’t make money off of three acts that are barely impressive!” She threw her hands up, finally sinking down into a chair. “I need more children.”

 

“Meg is searching as we speak,” Abaddon replied, slowly joining her. “I also have an idea, you may not like it, but we may be able to make it work.”

 

“What?”

 

“Perhaps, if we join Crowley -”

 

“You _hate_ him,” Eve hissed. “You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

 

“Yes, but we have given ourselves more attention, and since you had me be rid of the animals, we are short many acts that could draw in a larger crowd,” Abaddon snapped back. “He’s in town, I think we should approach him with a business deal. The man is a sucker for business deals.”

 

“What _kind_ of business deal? I will not sell my children to him!” Eve snarled. The idea of allowing Crowley to have his sticky paws on her children, in any way, was too upsetting to think on.

 

“We won’t be, we’ll be partnering with him. We’ll make it so, no matter what, _we_ win, and _we_ are in control. Understand?” Abaddon leaned over to press a kiss to Eve’s neck. “We’re smarter than him, we can make him think it was all his idea, but it’s ours. We pull the strings. Do you follow me?”

 

Eve nodded. “Yes,” she whispered, shuddering when Abaddon’s hands slid up her skirt. “Yes.”

 

Abaddon grinned, spreading Eve’s thighs eagerly. “Good.”

 

 

The man sitting in the cafe chair did not appear amused - his legs crossed, fingers steepled, and stubbled face a mask of anger - but at least his black suit was well tailored. He watched the two women sit across from him, allowing his fingers to drum against each other.

 

“And why,” he began, his British accent thick, “would I want to help you? Considering, _you_ are the ones who took Castiel away and made him into some … _abomination_.”

 

“You run a sideshow, Mr. Crowley,” Abaddon replied coolly, “just like we do. Surely, you can understand, finding real freaks is difficult these days. We no longer exist in a world with P.T. Barnum.”

 

Crowley picked up his glass to sip at the brandy inside, still unamused. “I still see no benefit in this … _partnership_ for me.”

 

“Well, it’s simple, you join us, you make more money. You make more money, you’re happier,” Abaddon said with a smile. “Am I correct?”

 

“And what exactly would we _call_ this show?” heasked. “My Menagerie already has a big name for itself, I see no reason to include your … troupe of freaks.”

 

Eve stiffened and Abaddon chuckled darkly, lying a hand on her arm. “I would be careful if I were you, Mr Crowley, Eve does not take kindly to people talking about her children in such an ill fashion. And you cannot tell me that you have no desire to have an _angel_ in your show.”

 

Crowley shifted slightly, taking another sip of his drink. “I suppose,” he admitted. “Though I still see no _true_ benefit for me.”

 

“We bring _you_ more sideshow acts, you brings us acts we do not have. We mesh together and become the best sideshow this country has _ever_ seen,” Abaddon purred. “Imagine, our names in the papers everyday … winning over the war headlines and all.” She leaned forward and placed her hands on the table. “This is a _dream_ match, Mr. Crowley.”

 

Crowley turned his gaze from Abaddon’s to glance around the cafe they had agreed to meet at. It was odd, meeting women at a cafe that mostly men came to, but they knew him here, and if he ran into trouble, he at least knew most of the patrons would have his back. The waitresses bustled about, paying them no heed as they went about their days, bringing food to and from the kitchen. They sat outside under the warm Florida sun, heating up the sidewalk and all of her passers by to the point where dabbing one’s face with a cloth became necessary. The smell of salt from the sea made Crowley wrinkle his nose - American ocean always seemed so dirty to him.

 

Of course, many American things made him feel unclean, as if he were betraying his homeland somehow. Crowley turned a cold gaze on his female guests, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. He was not sure how much he could trust them, since they were the ones to have taken the boy away over a year ago now. But their show was _good_ , and they needed him to better it.

 

The idea made him smirk, and he raised his glass. “To our new partnership,” he said.

 

Abaddon smiled and eagerly clinked their glasses together. “Agreed.”

 

As he drank, Crowley was not certain he liked the smile the women exchanged.

 

 

Castiel stared up at the lights that hung from rope strung across the campsite, glowing amber, swinging lightly in the breeze. Somehow, he had come full circle - he had returned to _Crowley’s Menagerie_ , even though he was no longer a boy, but a freak. A fabricated angel. Bobby walked him along, keeping him from rushing off and away into the night, but he was just glad to stretch his legs. Living in a cramped cage did not exactly scream _comfort_. Dean’s screams haunted the encampment, and Castiel flinched each time he heard him scream louder, more anguished than before. Alastair must have hurt him again.

 

He was lead to a new trailer, one that was empty, save for Sam Winchester, who was already huddled in some straw. Bobby helped him inside, and then the door was shut, but at least this one had some windows towards the top to allow for light filtering in. No longer did he have to live in absolute darkness. He joined Sam slowly, going to sit next to the boy, lying a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Sam?” he whispered.

 

Sam looked up at him, tears in his eyes. “I hurt,” he whispered weakly.

 

Castiel flinched, shifting so he could pull Sam close, stroking his hair gently. “I’m sorry, Sam,” he whispered. They kept the poor boy unclothed, in every show, just like Dean, but that was his appeal. He knew Sam had to be in pain, but at least he no longer bled all over the place anymore. They had only been here for maybe a month. Castiel wasn’t sure either of them would ever adjust and become complacent.

 

“You see Dean sometimes,” Sam muttered. “Right?”

 

“Yes,” Castiel admitted slowly. “I do.”

 

“Will you tell him that … I’m sorry? This is my fault -” Sam cut off, his voice breaking.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Castiel said firmly. “It’s _not_. If it’s anyone’s fault, we can blame the people who did this to us. Dr. Mauvais for starters.”

 

Sam looked up at him, his lip trembling. “I just want to go home,” he whispered.

 

Castiel nodded, pulling Sam close again. “You know, I’ve had a birthday since I was last here,” he whispered. “It’s strange.”

 

Sam sniffed. “My birthday’s in May, I’ll be eighteen … If I make it to eighteen.”

 

Castiel squeezed Sam’s shoulders. He knew what it was like wondering if he would make it to his next birthday. “I know what you mean,” he whispered. “But you will, you’ll make it to your next birthday Sam. You will. You just have to believe it.”

 

“What if we escaped?” Sam whispered.

 

Castiel stared at the wall, eyes rising to the window that revealed the crescent moon smiling at them. “That would be amazing,” he admitted. “But I don’t think it’s possible. A girl tried to escape once, she died a really horrendous death. As far as I know, no one has attempted since.”

 

Sam shifted to face him. “But what if _we_ did,” Sam hissed. “If we were able to break free, call the cops, rescue Dean?”

 

Castiel shook his head. “If we somehow broke free, Sam … they’d shoot your brother right quick. We’d have to all get out together if we all wanted to live.”

 

“Then let’s _do_ it,” Sam said, his eyes lighting up for the first the first time since Castiel had seen him at the show. “Let’s find a way to get out of here. You were here first, right? That’s what I heard them saying? Do you know anyone here?”

 

“I did,” Castiel replied slowly. “A year ago. Benny Lafitte.” If anyone were to help them escape, Benny, Bobby, and Samandriel were on the top of his list.

 

“Then we find out if he’s still here,” Sam whispered. “And we get out of this place. Forever.”

 

Castiel wanted to protest, but Sam was so excited and there was _life_ in his eyes. He had no desire to quash that. Outside of this place, Sam had a chance of living, but he and Dean did not. If his wings _could_ be removed, he had a feeling he would live his life as a cripple, and Dean would probably be locked away to be studied. Maybe he would, too. Sam could hide his condition, but most of them were not so lucky. They no longer fit into the regulars of society - they were freaks. Plain and simple.

 

He eventually nodded. “Maybe,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do, alright? Don’t try to get out of here on your own. That’d be too dangerous.”

 

Sam sighed but nodded. “Okay.”

 

Castiel sighed in return, shutting his eyes and trying to sleep, but sleep never came. Every noise, every voice made him jump. He half expected Crowley to come and visit him, or perhaps Benny. Maybe even Samandriel, but he was not even sure they were still around. Castiel remained awake for the rest of the night, and by morning, he felt so exhausted that he could hardly move his body. The door to the trailer opened with a loud bang, snapping Sam from his sleep, and Castiel from being catatonic.

 

“Come on,” the man said to them, he was not someone either of them recognized. “Stretch your legs and get some food.”

 

Neither of them had to be asked twice, and Castiel looked the man over. He was dark skinned and older, like Bobby. He wore a blue uniform, a bundle of keys in his hand.

 

“Thank you,” Castiel said to him. “May I ask your name?”

 

“Name’s Rufus,” the man replied. “C’mon, let’s go. Quick, now.”

 

Castiel nodded, committing Rufus’ face to mind. Perhaps, Rufus could be added to their list of possible allies. They were followed as they walked towards where the others were converging together. Sam gasped at the array of people - the two headed man, a woman so fat that Castiel was stunned she could walk on her own, tiny people so small they hardly came to Castiel’s knee, workers of all sorts, a man whose face was covered in hair like a dog, and lastly, Castiel noted, Benny Lafitte were all sitting at folding tables eating.

 

Sam no longer flinched at being nude, but that did not stop someone from getting up and draping him in a robe of some sort. She was a kind faced woman with dark hair, her long fingers going through his hair comfortingly, cooing softly in his ear. Castiel walked right up to Benny, wondering if the man would recognize him. From the shocked look on Benny’s face, he did. When he reached Benny’s table, the older man stood up, looking him over as if he had seen a ghost.

 

“Hello, Benny,” he whispered.

 

“Cas?” Benny sputtered, truly surprised. “You’re _alive_?”

 

Castiel nodded. “For now,” he replied quietly. “How is Samandriel?”

 

Benny smiled slightly. “Doin’ his mornin’ work. Glad you remembered him.”

 

He nodded. “I do … may I sit? I - I can’t stand for very long.”

 

“Oh yes - yeah -” Benny grabbed a chair and helped him sit down. “Jesus, what happened to you?”

 

Castiel looked down knowing that Benny was asking after the wings bound to his back tightly. He wished that he could move them on his own, since they were dead weights most of the time. “Dr. Mauvais happened to me,” he replied. “I would keep an eye on Samandriel, he may want to turn him into a freak next.”

 

“Never,” Benny growled fiercely. “They’ll have to kill me first.”

 

“Don’t put it past them,” Castiel replied gravely. “Keep him with you at all times if you can help it.”

 

Benny nodded. “I will,” he swore. Castiel knew Benny was good for his word. “Cas, I am sorry for handing you over to Crowley - perhaps, if I hadn’t, I could have kept you safe.”

 

“No,” he said with a sad shake of his head. “They would have found a way to get me. I’m just glad that no one else was hurt with me. At least not from here.” There had been plenty of people _hurt_ with him, but that couldn’t be helped, and Castiel knew he was powerless against it all. “Benny?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You chose this life, right?”

 

Benny glanced up from his meal, slowly setting the spoon in his hand back down. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I needed the work, and I chose it.”

 

“So, if you wanted to leave?” Castiel prompted.

 

“I’ve got a contract with Crowley, but it’s been up for a while now, I s’pose. If I wanted to go, I could. Why?” Benny asked, his head tilting.

 

Castiel gulped and leaned in, speaking as quietly as he could. “So, if you wanted to leave, you could leave … and you could find a way to get us out of here  too?” The startled look that filled Benny’s face did not surprise Castiel, but he did not back down.

 

“Cas,” Benny hissed. “I - not here. Not right now, got it?”

 

He sighed and nodded, turning away. Honestly, he had known it would be a longshot, but it was worth a try. A plate full of food - _real_ food - was placed in front of him, and when he looked up he met the kind eyes of the dark haired woman who had comforted Sam. “Thank you.”

 

She nodded. “No problem, Honey.”

 

Castiel dug in but he saved the last few bits, grabbing a napkin to place the chunk of bread, and a few strips of beef inside, wrapping them up carefully. Benny gave him a raised eyebrow, but Castiel stood and began to walk pointedly over to Dean’s trailer, where he could hear Dean moving around restlessly. Rufus was standing nearby, talking to Bobby, so Castiel walked up to them.

 

“No, Castiel,” Bobby replied before he could even say anything.

 

“He’s probably hungry, too!” he protested. “Here, will you at least give this to him, then?” He held out the napkin, soaked already in grease. “Please?”

 

Bobby sighed and stood up, turning him around to walk him over to the back door, unlocking it. “Be quick.”

 

Muttering a thank you, Castiel slid inside, walking up to Dean who froze in his pacing when he saw that it was him, and not Alastair or Abaddon. “Good morning, Dean. I have food for you.”

 

Dean stepped as close as he could, the chains straining against his neck. He held out his hand for the wrapped food, and Castiel set the warm bundle into his palm. Taking a step back, Castiel watched Dean tear through the small bit hungrily, as if they hadn’t fed him in days. Which could have been true, he realized sadly. In the beginning, they had starved him, too. When Dean finished, licking the napkin to get the last bit desperately, Castiel flooded with guilt - he should have saved more for him.

 

“Next time, I’ll bring you more,” Castiel promised then.

 

Dean licked his lips, dropping the napkin to the floor as he walked up to Cas, sliding his hand out. He stepped into Dean’s touch, pressing his cheek warmly into Dean’s palm. “Thank you,” Dean rumbled.

 

“You’re welcome,” Castiel replied.

 

“Cas!” Bobby hissed. “Get outta there, I can see the doctor comin’. Let’s move it!”

 

“Bye,” Castiel whispered, hurriedly leaving so he did not get Bobby or himself into trouble. He ducked around the other side of the trailer, daring to press his ear to the metal, listening as Alastair approached.

 

“Why is this unlocked?” Alastair drawled.

 

Bobby stammered a moment, but then Rufus jumped in to save him, “We were about to clean it out, when you were showin’ up.”

 

“Hm,” Alastair replied. There was a long pause, and then Castiel could hear the doctor walking in, his footsteps heavy on the floor. With his ear pressed against the side, Castiel could hear everything clearly. “My, my, looking mighty _happy_ this morning, are we?”

 

Dean snarled. “Fuck -” He cut off with a hiss of pain. Castiel held his breath.

 

“You truly are a _pain_ ,” Alastair growled. “But, Eve and Abaddon _insist_ on keeping you. Tonight, you will go on display, and you will _behave_. I have prepared an extra … _juicy_ concoction for you for this evening. It will make the women and men shudder at your prowess.” The doctor cut off and laughed coldly. “Hopefully, you will make us a fortune.”

 

Dean snarled again, spitting - mostly likely in Alastair’s face. “Rot in Hell.”

 

There was a long pause and then Castiel fell back a few steps - the scream Dean produced was even more pained than usual. Anger filled his body, and he wanted to storm inside, wrap his arms around Alastair’s neck and squeeze until the man no longer moved. But he remained rooted to the spot, listening to Dean scream instead. He was but one person, barely able to lift his arms over his head, let alone strangle someone.

 

When the screaming finally stopped, Alastair walked out, and the trailer door was firmly shut. Castiel felt tears come to his eyes. Walking back around to the other side, Castiel watched Alastair walk away, death in his eyes. _One day_ , he promised himself silently. _One day_.

 

Chapter Eight

 

There was someone walking outside of the trailer, he could hear their footsteps as they seemed to be pacing, as if debating on whether or not to come inside. Dean opened his eyes and started to sit up, trying to move slowly so the chains keeping him bound did not scrape the floor too hard. He stared pointedly at the door and waited, until it finally started to open. His body automatically tensed at the idea of Alastair coming to punish him again. A light flashed in his eyes and he flinched, covering his face with his hands - he had grown so accustomed to the dark, that anything but darkness hurt terribly.

 

Dean listened to the footsteps that walked up to his cage before slowly peering up through his fingers. He hoped for Castiel, but it was late, and as far as he knew, none of them were allowed out when late. The man that stood at his cage door he did not recognize, and Dean could only hope that this was not some new torturer.

 

“You’re Dean?” the man asked, his accent thick and unrecognizable to Dean’s ears - something Southern.

 

He nodded. “Yeah,” he replied gruffly. “Who’re you?”

 

“Benny.” Benny jingled some keys and then Dean felt his heart slam in his chest when Benny unlocked the door to his cage. “We gotta move fast, ya hear?”

 

Once again, he nodded. Dean could have kissed the man on the mouth as Benny walked up to him and unlocked the chains that held him back. When they fell away heavily, Dean stared at his wrists, before reaching up to touch his neck. The skin was raw and sore,but skin could heal. The point was, was that he was _free_. He looked up at Benny and stared at him as if he were God.

 

“Thank you,” he gasped.

 

Benny nodded. “C’mon,” he said, reaching to help Dean to his feet. “I already got your brother and Cas waitin’ for us, so c’mon.”

 

“You got Sam?” he gasped. The idea that this man had saved Sam made him want to kiss him again. If they made it out alive he probably _would_ kiss the son of a bitch. Dean followed Benny out of the trailer and onto the soft grass, wet with dew. It had been so long since he had felt real earth beneath his toes that he couldn’t help but wiggle them around, relishing in the cold damp that chilled his feet. Goosebumps rose on his naked body as he walked behind Benny, trying to keep up, but the sudden real use of his leg made a sharp pain rush down his thigh. He cried out and almost collapsed.

 

Benny turned around to face him, reaching out to grab onto his elbow. “What happened?” he whispered.

 

“My leg,” he growled. “I gotta - limp.” Dean cursed his handicap, glaring down at the thigh that was now trembling from the sudden burst of walking he had to do. “I’ll be okay.”

 

Benny’s face was a mask of concern, but he nodded, still holding onto Dean’s arm. “C’mon,” he muttered, trying to help Dean along. They had to slow down, but Benny didn’t seem to mind, since they had to stick to the shadows anyway. Eventually, they came to a tall tree, where Benny had him sit down behind. “Stay here,” Benny whispered, “I’ll be back.”

 

He nodded.

 

After Benny had left, Dean could feel his mind twisting and turning. What if Benny’s intentions were not as good as they seemed? What if this were all a sick joke Alastair had cooked up for him? What if they were going to hurt Sam? He shut his eyes - thinking this way would lead to nowhere except mental agony. For once, he had to believe that this was their salvation, and they were finally going to be free. He _had_ to believe it. After that was settled, Dean allowed the silence to blanket him, making him feel warm inside, despite his body shaking from the cool air. The silence became his friend, but even though Dean found comfort in it, parts of him wondered why it was so quiet. Like the earth was holding its breath, waiting for some shifting event to occur.

 

The sudden sound of footsteps on the grass made him jump, and he would have stood up if his leg hadn’t been aching so badly. He remained on the ground, hoping that he blended in with the shadows enough to stay out of sight. Benny, followed by Sam, Castiel, and some other kid he didn’t recognize, came from around the corner, and Dean was able to relax. Breathing once again, Dean shakily stood up, accepting Benny’s arm for support. There were tears streaming down his face, but he didn’t care. _Sam_ was okay, Sam was alive, and here with him. Looking scrawny, but he was _alive_.

 

“Sam,” he whispered, reaching out to him, but then withdrawing when he caught a glimpse of his fingernails. Sometimes, he forgot that they had turned him into a beast, but then glimpses of his own body cruelly reminded him.

 

“Hey, Dean,” Sam whispered back. “Ready to get out of here?”

 

“You know it.” Dean glanced at Castiel, smiled softly, and then they were heading off into the dark. He had no idea how they were going to get passed the gate at the entrance to the fairgrounds, but he assumed Benny had a plan. Hopefully, it was a good one. They walked through the darkness, passed some other trailers that housed their captors, moving from shadow to shadow like fiends. Freedom and salvation were _so_ close, he could practically taste it.

 

Benny led them to a truck, where there was a bed, with a tarp secured over the top, hiding its contents from view. Dean wondered how they were going to get out of here without having the truck checked, and if they would even let Benny _leave_ , but he didn’t think on it long. Not when Benny helped him up and then he and Sam were sitting in the back together. Eagerly, his hands sought Sam, pulling his little brother close, not caring that they were both dirty, thin, and naked - he was just glad for Sam’s body to be next to his. Castiel joined them in the back, his eyes watching them in the darkness. Dean ignored him.

 

“We’re gonna be free, Sammy,” Dean whispered to Sam, kissing the top of his head, rubbing his arms.

 

Sam nodded, pressing his head under Dean’s chin softly. “I’m glad you’re okay, Dean.”

 

He chuckled. “Yeah, well, I’m as okay as I can be, I guess. You too, it’s good to see you’re upright.”

 

Sam nodded, snuggling in close. Dean shut his eyes and prayed as hard as he could for their safe leave. The truck rumbled and shuddered to start before it began its drive towards the front gate. As they grew closer, Dean felt his heartbeat speed up until it was slamming so hard against his body that it made breathing difficult. When they pulled up to the gate, rolling to a stop, Dean wrapped his arms more tightly around Sam. He would die before someone hurt his brother, and then even after, he’d find a way to come back and do something about it.

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” a voice asked.

 

Benny replied, “Crowley sent me out to pick up a late shipment at the docks. I don’ ask questions, I just do it.”

 

There was a long pause before the voice continued, “Where’s your papers?”

 

“Look, Crowley don’ like to be kept waitin’, so if you don’ let me through, _you’ll_ have to deal with him. You questionin’ Crowley’s authority over your job?” Benny snapped back.

 

Another pause. Dean held his breath. “You’re not back in a few hours, and I sound the alarm, ya hear?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, open the damn gate,” Benny replied.

 

Holding back a sob of relief was difficult, but they all stayed silent, Sam shaking slightly in his arms, from either being cold or afraid, Dean wasn’t sure. Maybe both. He tightened his grip on Sammy anyway, trying to keep him warm, even though the metal of the truck was making that difficult. The gate squeaked as it opened, but soon they were rolling through, and Dean had to applaud Benny for not speeding off - he would have. He would have put his foot to the pedal and would have hauled it as fast as he could away from this place. But Benny was smarter than him, obviously, so he didn’t draw attention as they passed through.

 

Dean listened to the crunch of the gravel as they passed through the gate; it sounded like popping bones. His stomach reeled and his vision swam as he thought on it for too long. God, was he going to pass out? The sound seemed too loud, like too much - gravel should not have been popping that way. A cry of pain from outside made Sam flinch in his arms, and Dean stiffened. Shouts were following, and then the truck jerked to a stop, the sound of a tire popping making them all freeze in fear. The tarp was being ripped free, and Abaddon stared at them all, looking enraged, her face twisted, and ugly.

 

“And _where_ do you think _you_ are all going?” she snarled.

 

Eve came up beside her, and while Abaddon looked angry, she looked hurt, as if their leaving had offended her somehow. “My children,” she hissed. “Where are you going?”

 

Dean glared, still keeping Sam in his arms. “We _aren’t_ your children, you _crazy bitch_!” he snapped, bearing his teeth. Dean looked around, trying to think fast; he and Sam were closest to the cab of the truck, and Castiel was closest to Abaddon and Eve. But someone had blown the tire out, meaning they wouldn’t get far, even if he _did_ manage to get Sam and himself into the front. Someone was hauling Benny and the kid he didn’t know out … well they were hauling the kid out, and Benny was following, begging.

 

“Don’t shoot him -” Benny sobbed.

 

“Benny!”

 

Dean covered Sam’s eyes when the kid’s cries were cut short as he was shot right between the eyes. As the body fell to the ground, Dean flinched and Benny screamed in agony, trying to fight his way over. He tightened his grip around Sam’s eyes as another shot sounded, this one striking Benny in the chest. The big men fell back and laid still, not making another sound. He turned his eyes from Benny to Abaddon and Eve, who were now dragging Cas from the truck bed, despite him trying to break free. He wanted to reach out to save Cas, but he stayed still, holding Sam in his arms.

 

“I should shoot you all,” Abaddon snarled. “But we need you, and Eve won’t let me.”

 

Dean smirked slightly. They _did_ need them, perhaps he would have to find a way to remember that later on. Eve was holding and petting Castiel, as if he were her pet, cooing at him in an attempt to calm him, but Castiel remained stiff and angry.

 

“Rot in Hell,” Dean replied coldly.

 

Abaddon turned her eyes to Sam. “Take him,” she said.

 

Dean frowned before the realization of what was happening struck him. The men that had been dragging Benny and the nameless kid were coming for Sammy. One of them grabbed Sam by the hair, while the other pressed a firm palm on Dean’s chest to hold him back as they began to drag his brother away. Dean screamed, launching and biting the man who held Sam as hard as he could on the arm. Blood, thick and red spurted into his mouth as the fangs cut through flesh like butter. He listened to the man screaming, while his partner attempted to wrestle Dean backward.

 

“ _Run, Sam_!” he yelled.

 

Sam bolted over the truck bed and began to run for the road. The men that held him let go, rushing after Sammy in an attempt to catch him, but Sam was too fast. He watched as his little brother ran down the road, soon disappearing in the darkness, and he cried out in relief, spitting blood out of his mouth. Sam was free and safe - Sam would get _them_ help. He would go to the police. They were saved. Triumphantly, Dean spun around to smile at Abaddon. The paleness of her face made him feel a surge of satisfaction - she was washed up and she knew it. He had never felt so damn happy.

 

“Take that, _bitch_ ,” he snapped, his voice deep and fierce, ripping through the air.

 

The men that returned looked defeated, and Abaddon wheeled on them. “Don’t come back! Go after him! Find him!” she screamed, shoving them back towards the road. “He can’t have gotten far, _find him_! Bring him to me _alive_ , do you understand.”

 

Dean grinned at Castiel, who dared to have a look of hope as well. Sam would save them. Sam would save them all.

 

 

For three days, Sam remained missing. They had all dared to hope that he would _stay_ missing until he returned with the cops. Castiel was surprised that they hadn’t packed up their stuff to leave yet, but Abaddon insisted they stay, so her men could return to them without a hassle. Blessings sometimes came in small packages, and even though Castiel had ceased believing in God, he did believe in a greater good somewhere in this universe. And somehow, they would find their salvation. Whether that was through a band of cops and a seventeen year old boy was up to fate.

 

The hunger pangs were starting to bother him, now that he was used to being fed regularly, but in the last three days they hadn’t even brought him water. The temptation to drink his own urine had become disturbingly strong. His mouth felt so dry that the dead weight of his tongue was suffocating him. Castiel groaned out loud, lying on his side. He wasn’t even sure if it were night or day since someone had blacked out the windows of the trailer to keep him in the dark. It was beyond frustration.

 

Today was the fourth day and as far as he knew Sam was still gone, but no one had come for them either. _One day_ he thought. _One day_. _Soon._

 

A scream jolted him from lying on his side, followed by the trailer door being opened. Abaddon stormed up to his cage, opening it, and then Castiel had no choice but to be dragged outside. It was day, the clouds heavy with the threat of rain. The screaming continued, and it took a moment for Castiel to register what he was seeing. In the midst of the gathering crowd was Dean, being held back by several men, and on the ground, was Sam’s dead body. Castiel frowned. Abaddon had wanted him _alive_ but he was clearly dead, his eyes unseeing as they stared up at the sky.

 

“Let _this_ ,” Abaddon said, pointing at Sam as she thrust Castiel forward, “be a lesson to _all_ of you! This is what will happen if you attempt to leave again, do I make myself clear?!”

 

Castiel felt his blood run cold and he turned his eyes away from Sam, turning to look at Dean instead. He sagged in the men’s arms, sobbing as he continued to stare at Sam, his body visibly shaking. Castiel gulped back tears, turning to look at Sam again, wanting to bury Sam properly, but he had a feeling that Abaddon would either have Alastair take care of him, or just dump him on the side of the road. Part of him was hoping for the latter - if he were found by police, then at least his mother would have some closure, and perhaps the police could find them. If Alastair took care of him … Castiel didn’t want to think too hard on that thought.

 

Eventually, he was being walked back to his cage away from the scene, listening to Dean’s sobs and screams. For the rest of the night, Castiel cried. He cried for Dean, he cried for Sam, and for himself. Sam was dead but at least he was free of this prison. Nausea filled his stomach and made his head swim as he realized that they were only going to be leaving the same exact way.

 

 

With Sam gone, the show was down to only the angel, the monster, and Crowley’s bunch. Abaddon was unhappy, and so was Eve - of course Eve was upset for different reasons. Abaddon was upset because they were going to lose money and now Crowley had the upperhand. Eve was upset because one of her precious _children_ was now dead in the ground. Yet again, another lost life. Abaddon was just happy that they still had control over the other Winchester and the angel.

 

“I’m moving the angel in with the Winchester boy,” came Crowley’s voice, drawing her from her thoughts.

 

Abaddon moved her eyes over to where Crowley had come to stand. The glass in her hand felt heavy and she set it down with a soft clink. “What?” she snarled.

 

“I said, I’m moving your angel in with the other Winchester,” Crowley repeated. “We need more room and they can both fit in one space. So, I’m doing it. I _dare_ you to try and stop me, Abaddon. I dare you.” Crowley grinned. “You and I both know you are close to being washed up, and your show is going to go down without me. I run the show now.”

 

Abaddon’s fists clenched and she stood up. “You son of a bitch -”

 

“Mmm you’re right, I was a son a bitch, actually,” Crowley admitted with amusement. “But at least my mother wasn’t a cunt like you. No more starving your boys. Your acts tend to _behave_ better when treated like people.”

 

“They’re _not_ ,” Abaddon hissed. “Dr. Mauvais saw to that.”

 

Crowley shrugged. “They’re freaks, but they’re still people. Good night, Abaddon. We leave in the morning. We have a show in Orlando, and then it’s onwards to Louisiana.”

 

Abaddon looked away, having no choice but to give up. Crowley was right, he ran the show now, since he had the upperhand in the situation. Eve didn’t care about any of that, and it was starting to frustrate her. Neither did Dr. Mauvais - he just wanted new bodies to experiment on. The only reason Sam Winchester had even been buried at all was because Eve had insisted on it, and she always seemed to get what she wanted. Their relationship was strained, and Abaddon was even starting to regret bringing her along.

 

Crowley walked away, off towards Castiel’s trailer to have him moved, and Abaddon sank back down on her seat, picking up her glass to drink again. The liquid burned all the way down and she shook her head. They would have to find new people soon, or they were going to become Crowley’s henchmen, and she would have none of that.

 

 

Dean did not move when the door to his trailer opened, nor did he move when the cage opened. He didn't even turn around to see who was joining him, not even when soft hands went to lie on his arm and side. He just continued to stare into the dark corner, his mind on Sam.

 

“Dean,” came Castiel’s voice to his ear.

 

“He’s gone, Cas,” Dean whimpered, his voice broken.

 

“I know,” Castiel whispered. “I’m so sorry, Dean.”

 

“Forever,” he continued. “I can’t bring him back. This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have brought him to that stupid show, I should have tried harder -”

 

“Dean, you couldn’t have done anything,” Castiel insisted sternly. “This is not your fault.”

 

He shook his head - Castiel was wrong. Everything, all of _this_ , was his fault, and Sam had paid the price. He could only hope that Sam was happier than he was here, but Dean was not a man of faith. He did not believe in God, nor the afterlife. As far as he knew, Sam was just gone, and he was neither happy or sad because he had simply stopped existing, but he didn’t _want_ to believe that. Sam deserved to be in Heaven, happy, and surrounded by puppies. Sam had always loved puppies.

 

“You’re wrong,” he muttered.

 

“No, _you_ are,” Castiel said. “You can’t go on believing this is your fault. You did not ask these people to do what they did, Dean. You never asked for any of this.”

 

Dean sighed, trying to will his tears away, but they always came when he thought of Sam. Crying had never been something he did often, but for Sam, he would cry so much that they would have to build an ark. “I should have found a way,” Dean whispered. “I should have -”

 

Castiel hushed him, wrapping his arm as best as he could around Dean’s waist, even if the motion felt strained. “Dean, that’s enough.”

 

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he whispered. “For not - for not stopping them from dragging you away. I just _watched_ -”

 

“You were trying to protect Sam,” Castiel cut him off. “It’s alright.”

 

“Promise me something, Cas,” Dean whispered.

 

“Anything.”

 

“Don’t let me lose you too,” he continued, eyes closing. “Please.”

 

Castiel didn’t answer him, and it spoke louder than words ever could.

 

 

The man called Cain arrived in Orlando - he came voluntarily, supposedly. He was a strongman, able to show off his prowess and strength for the crowds. Once they had him, Castiel knew that the show was complete. They traveled from town to town in a haze. Dean was mostly catatonic when he performed, no matter what Alastair pumped him full of, he hardly responded in the same angry manner anymore. He worried that they would get rid of Dean if he did not start to act up again. Not that he did not much better.

 

Ever since Samandriel, Benny, and Sam were killed, the list of friends he had was running short. The only people left were Dean and the woman who had fed him that one night. Her name was Jodie, but he didn’t see her often. She was a fortune-teller, and she rode in her own caravan. She was kind of like everyone’s mother, more so than Eve. Much more than Eve. Both Abaddon and Eve were scrambling for purchase on their quickly unraveling show; they were no longer in control, Castiel learned quickly. It was noted in the fact that they were fed, and even allowed out of their cages if escorted, but Dean never had any desire to leave. Castiel did though.

 

Tonight, he was standing in the same room with the animals. There was a lion in a cage watching him. He had never seen a lion up close before, not until now; it was huge and impressive. Cain was going to do a show with him, and Castiel could not fathom _why_. The lion could have easily eaten him, Cain, Crowley, Abaddon, any of them.

 

Bobby had left him inside with the animals alone - there was an emergency at Dean’s trailer. He had been told to stay put, so he hadn’t left yet, but with each step, he came closer to the lion. It stood up and look at him, and Castiel was certain it could look him in the eye.

 

What type of emergency was happening at Dean’s trailer?

 

He had a feeling he knew. Dean had asked him not to be lost to Dean, too, but he had never asked Dean the same favor. Probably because he knew the probability of them leaving this situation was low. He cared about Dean - maybe he loved Dean … but he had never asked Dean to stay. Castiel stared at the lion, they were now so close that he could feel the cat’s hot breath on his face. Even though his heart was galloping, and there were tears running out of his eyes, Castiel did not flinch away from the animal, and they continued their staring contest. If he left, he would have to face what Dean had finally done. He just hoped that Dean had taken out more than just himself.

 

“One day,” he whispered to the cat, his voice shaking. “It’s time. It’s today.”

 

The lion gave up no reply, eventually turning to pace his cage instead. Castiel turned his eyes on the lock, wondering if he could break it. There had to be something to bust the lock with … a rock, a crowbar, something. Did he want to let this lion have him, or did he want to go outside and face reality? Dean had told him the other night that it was over. That he was done.

 

_“It’s over, Cas,” Dean whispered as he rolled over to face him. “I’m tired. I’m so tired …”_

 

_Castiel slid his hands into Dean’s and held them, bringing up his knuckles to kiss. He wanted to ask Dean to stay - to not leave him - but what kind of unfairness was that? Dean had lost his brother and will to fight. He didn’t really blame him. But once Dean was gone, he would follow like a lost lamb. “Dean,” he whispered._

 

_“Cas?” Dean asked, his voice shaking with unshed tears. “I’m sorry. I love you, and I’m sorry.”_

 

_Castiel didn’t know how to respond because he wasn’t sure if Dean really loved him. Maybe it was just a last minute thing he needed to say, or maybe Dean really did. They had grown close in this place together. Touched each other. Been with each other. Kissed one another’s hurts away. Maybe it really was love, but he couldn't bring himself to say it back._

 

_“I forgive you,” he whispered._

 

Had one day finally arrived? Were they going to go out like lights now? No one would know what happened to them. No one but them. Castiel sighed, turning away from the cage, to stare back at the door of the trailer - it was closed. Maybe Bobby had locked him inside. He walked over to test it, and found that the door opened slowly. There was a stone on the ground, big and heavy. It was in his hands before he could stop himself, and then the sound of him pounding on the lock of the lion’s cage filled his ears. The animal stopped pacing to look at him, its teeth bared, but when it saw the lock falling away, it looked at him, almost in surprise.

 

Castiel opened the door.

 

 

The stars twinkled for him, the world fading in and out a few times. It was cold, so cold, which probably had to do with the fact that he was bleeding out. Dean moved his head to look over with a weak smile. Castiel was not that far from him, crawling over. Whoever had let a lion loose was a brave soul. He felt the angel take his hand and Dean smiled wider than before.

 

“I thought you were dead,” Castiel whispered. “I let it out - the lion - I’m _sorry_ -”

 

Dean shrugged. “Hey …” he laughed, coughing up some blood. “Death by lion is pretty cool, right? Since they stopped me from hanging myself and all -”

 

Castiel gulped, leaning down to press their lips together. Dean relished in Castiel’s chapped mouth, running his tongue along those dry lips, until they were kissing each other eagerly in desperation. “I’m so sorry, Dean -”

 

“Shhh,” Dean whispered, trying to think past the pain. “I’m not mad, Cas. Happy, even. Happier than I’ve felt in a while. I’m sorry I let you down.”

 

“You could never let me down.” Castiel settled down beside him, lying his head on Dean’s chest, his arm wrapping over the ugly wound in Dean’s stomach.

 

Dean nodded, slowly closing his eyes. Sounds become dimmer, Castiel’s voice fading from his ears. He could hear Castiel vaguely saying his name, but that was it. He pictured the curtains closing.

 

 

“Dean, I love you too,” Castiel whispered, slowly sitting up to look at him. “Dean? _Dean_!” He can see very clearly that Dean is lying still and unseeing, his eyes open, a faint smile on his face. A sob escapes him and he shuts Dean’s eyes. “I’m sorry - _I’m sorry_.”

 

A gunshot made him look over his shoulder and he could see the lion finally lying dead on the ground, its face soaked in blood. God, he really hoped that the lion at least took out Alastair and Abaddon, if not Eve, too. Neaby was a dead body … and near that dead body was a gun. He had to get the gun. Castiel pressed a kiss to Dean’s lips one more time before scrambling over and picking it up - it was a lot heavier than he had imagined, but it was a comfortable weight. Standing, Castiel began to limp his way over to where he knew Abaddon and Eve would be, if they were the cowards he figured. Hiding in their stupid trailer.

 

The door was open and Eve stood in the doorway. She saw him and began to rush down to him, calling to him. Castiel held the gun in his hands and waited for her to be close - he didn’t want to miss.

 

“My baby,” she called, her arms outstretched for him. “You’re bleeding -” Her voice cut off when she saw the gun in his hands, but it was too late. One shot brought her down, but it didn’t kill her. Instead, Castiel walked up to her, standing over her, his back bleeding so badly now - the lion had ripped his wings apart, and the pain was excruciating, but he had been determined to get to Dean before he died … and now he had to end this.

 

“Castiel,” she gasped, choking on her own blood.

 

“I am not your child,” he whispered before shooting her between the eyes. The sound withdrew Abaddon from the trailer, her screams filling Castiel’s ears. He glanced up at her, his hands shaking as he held up the gun. “And I am not your commodity.” He shot her, too.

 

Now for Dr. Mauvais.

 

If Dean had still been alive he would have saved the doctor for Dean, but that was no longer the case. Castiel made a slow, determined path to the doctor’s trailer, trying to keep going, even though the pain was making his vision spotty. Nausea made him vomit once on the way, but he couldn’t pass out, not now. He had to do this … and then he could pass out and die.

 

But _this_ first.

 

Dr. Mauvais was leaving as soon as Castiel showed up. The man stared at him, surprised to see him. “Castiel,” he purred. “What are you -”

 

He held up the gun. “Hello, Doctor,” he whispered shakily.

 

“Now, Castiel, don’t do anything rash -”

 

“You turned me into a monster,” he growled. “And - if I had time … I would return the favor - but I don’t, so watching you die will be my final pleasure. You killed all of us, and now it’s your turn.”

 

“Castiel -”

 

Watching Alastair’s blood spatter on the trailer door was oddly satisfying. The gun fell from his hands and Castiel finally allowed himself to collapse. The air rushed from his lungs as he made contact with the ground, and a new wave of pain made him feel sick. He shut his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was certain that Dean was standing over him, his hand held outward. Next to him was Sam, Jo, Anna, Andy, and Adam. They were all smiling at him.

 

“Ready to go, Cas?” Dean asked.

 

Castiel smiled weakly. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I told you - one day ... one day …. one day …”

 

He, too, pictured the curtains closing.

 

 


End file.
